


Idyll

by Dryad_1



Category: Cycling RPF
Genre: Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad_1/pseuds/Dryad_1
Summary: The new cycling season is upon us and Wout van Aert finds himself in an unfamiliar emotional mess. He can't wait for the races to start but first he has to spend a few weeks of training camp with his teammates and one of them in particular is making it really hard for him to fall asleep at night.
Relationships: Primož Roglič/Wout van Aert
Comments: 36
Kudos: 16





	1. Tu puoi cantarmi il cielo al blu.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first work of this sorts and actually my first longer writing in english, which is not my fist language. So, please, be kind, because there will for sure be some grammatical errors and things that don't make sense. I came up with this story one night when I could not sleep and just kept building on it to the point it was already driving me crazy. It's going to be long, if I manage to finish it. Who knows :)
> 
> The chapter title is inspired by the song Il Libro Dell' Amore by 2Cellos feat. Zucchero

Wout is looking at him. Looking at him through his dark sunglasses, observing how he's standing in the middle of a small parking lot situated halfway up the long mountain road that is now slowly getting occupied by a few cars and cyclists, all donned in black and yellow colors. The man is leaning over the handlebars of his bike, one leg lazily stretched on his side, the other one still on the pedal. He's looking down to the valley that is basking in the hot spring spanish sun. It's the start of their february training camp, the one that will kick off the big block of cycling races that await them through march and april. Wout can barely contain his excitement. He loves to do this. He loves cycling, he loves racing, he loves training and most importantly he loves winning, which is what he's been doing a lot since he joined this team a few years ago.

There's always so much that's going on during training camps: physical preparation, extremely long rides, grueling climbs, sprint practices, impoving on your time trial, all kinds of different performance tests, measurings, calculations, strategy plannings, examining the stage profiles of particular races, making sure the bikes are set just right, always learning newly discovered things about diet and regeneration and anything that's supposed to make you a better rider. Better than the rest of them. And his team is excited too. How could they not be! In the past two years they've become one of the best teams in the professional peloton. They've been winning races, grand tours, classics, left and right…

 _Especially thanks to me_ , thinks Wout as he looks on at his five teammates that have been riding with him this particular day, some chatting amongst each other, some doing circles around the parking lot on their bikes, sporting directors, mechanics and other technical staff hovering amongs them with so many things to say, so many advices to give and comments to make. _And thanks to him_ , Wout looks at the man again as he's still turned away from everyone else, serene expression on his face. The riders all wear their waspish cycling kits, they look like a well knit unit, the result of years of riding together, winning together and being through turmoil and dissapointment together as well. It's all part of the business and everyone here knows what their job is and what they're supposed to do. They all get along and no one's here to make any unnecessary drama. And what a journey they've been on in the past few years. _I'm happy with these boys_ , Wout thinks gratefully, _not everyone is so lucky._ And like on cue, someone says something funny and the whole group bursts into a spirited laughter. Wout misses the joke, being so caught up in his own thinking but he's not the only one not laughing.

"Primož, why so serious today?", George nudges the man Wout's been peering at since they've all stopped here for a break and some tinkering.

He turns to George and gives him a tired smile, "Ah, you know, just a rough day, not feeling myself today."

"You always say that, Rogla, and yet you're always the one who barely struggles on these climbs, everyone's dying and you don't even break a sweat." The guys all mumble in agreement and continue to talk about the other part of the climb that still awaits them in the next hour.

George is right. Primož is always the best. He is their absolute leader. He's one of the strongest cyclists in the sport. Not just psysically superior, he's a few levels beyond everyone else mentally. That is what Wout had noticed right away when he first met the man at the team presentation a few years ago. Wout was a newcomer and Primož has just barely started winning races consistently but Wout knew right there that this guy had something special in him. The look on his face, the pure determination to succeed, his joy of winning and beating the competition, no one could mistake the champion that he was becoming, slowly but surely. Ofcourse they were other riders on the team what were exceptionally talented, Wout being one of them, many journalists and fans even considering him being one of the most talented and exciting riders to watch. And Wout knows he's good, his confidence growing with each race and each new success. Yet, the admiration for Primož has always been there and even now, in the middle of their afternoon ride, he was standing there, his bike resting between his legs, his eyes examining what the other man was doing, picking out every little detail, how he sipped on his water, how he started to explains something to a mechanic, his fingers sliding through a screen on his bike computer...

Now he took off his sunglasses and his hazel eyes squinted at the sun beams, coming through the thick white clouds, surrounding the peak of the mountain. He turned his head in Wout's direction, studying the road they're about to take on and the bright rays caught in his eyes turned his brown irises into an unexpected emerald gold. This startled Wout and afraid of being seen staring at Primož he quickly averted his gaze to another direction. After a few minutes he looked at him again, now talking to his sporting director Grischa about managing his condition through spring races towards the next training camp before the Tour de France.

 _It's fascinating,_ Wout thinks, _all these people buzzing around him and he's as calm and sturdy as a mountain, living in his own world, belonging to his own universe and everything and everyone is here for him to serve him._

You really can sense the team is shaping and forming in Primož's energy. There's the trust he earned over the years of hard work, going beyond himself and his capabilities, trying to win for his team, to make them proud, successful and strong. There's confidence and composure with which they do things now. They know that they can win, they can win with Primož, with Wout, with other talents as well, they can win as a team.

The guys start preparing to take on another chunk of tough road and Wout's looking at them now, pondering how they all look like a busy bike of bees. Primož takes off his helmet and runs his fingers through his dark hair. _It got a little longer_ , Wout thinks and as he examines his messy locks, glistening a little damp in the heat, Primož closes his eyes and turns his face up towards the sky, his head leaning slightly back, letting the sun caress his still wintery white skin, visibly enjoying the warmth of it. He takes a few deep breaths and then opens his eyes, puts his helmet back on, looks for his sunglasses.

 _He's so different from anyone else,_ Wout's thoughts now wandering in his head, running around like young kids chasing each other on the street. _The energy that he emits is what I cannot comprehend. I've known the guy for some years now, I've been through some tough camps with him, even harder races, great victories and devestating defeats, he's one of the teammates that I am most close to if not even the most, yet I still can't feel… I still can't understand how is he like that. He's not the most charismatic person in the world, he doesn't let you in into his life just like that. You have to earn it and when you're around him long enough, you get to know the real person, the real, sweet, caring, funny, talkative and deep person that he is._ Wout exhales deeply _. It's funny how the outside world sees him as this cold, uninterested, uninteresting man, a machine… In truth he's one of the friendliest and more intriguing people I've had the pleasure to know in my life. But I guess it's his slight weirdness and awkward english that let people believe he doesn't know how to show emotions, how to express some of his personality to the outside world. Some feel almost offended that he doesn't give them what they want. But the world knows he's special. Everybody knows he is. You can see how people look at him, how they marvel at his figure, his face, because let's be honest, no one looks like Primož Roglič. He's handsome in a way it leaves other people speechless sometimes, it is kinda funny actually._ Wout concludes, searching for some kind of jealousy in him, but there is none.

The truth is, he's been having some weird thoughts swirling around in his head when it came to Primož Roglič. And they came completely out of the blue. He's still not sure what it all meant. When he saw him the night of the start of the training camp, when he said hello to him after many months of not seeing him, something stirred inside him that he could not fully understand. The feeling of a tingle of vibration forming in his stomach when he shared a quick hug with his teammate, when Primož's hand gently tapped his shoulder, having a small conversation about how things went during the offseason.

 _Ugh, I just missed him,_ Wout was thinking and explaining it to himself, _I haven't seen him the longest and since the Tour and the Worlds, he's just been so persistently determined to win, to shine again. How can you not admire that? How can you not take the inspiration from that? It's a privilege to be around such a great athlete and even a better person. I'm just gonna enjoy this training camp, trying to learn some things from him and I'm sure he'll wanna learn some stuff from me too. Besides, he said many times before how much he takes from me, how much he admires my riding as well…_

"Wout!"

He jumped like he got struck by a lightning bolt. "What?" His voice barely coming out of his throat, he coughs a few times.

He didn't even notice he's been staring at his front wheel, almost hypnotized by the mash of his thoughts, the other sporting director Merijn standing next to him, looking at him with a puzzling look on his face, "Are you alright? I've called your name three times, asked you questions… and you...?"

"I'm sorry," Wout looks at him confused, "I've just been... thinking about... something."

"Well, here, you're gonna go now. Primož and Seppy are gonna go full gass the last few kilometers, you try to hang in with the others, ok? See you on top, then we're done for the day."

Wout looks for the sight of Primož again and he's having a conversation with Sepp, both already departing for the climb ahead of the other riders. They're both smiling at each other, having a debate of some sort but they're already too far ahead for Wout to hear them. Primož leans a little closer to Sepp, listening to his teammate and lets out a sudden quick burst of high laughter and his smile is so endearing, so endearing, thinks Wout, and he almost feels a bit annoyed that Primož is laughing with Sepp and not with him. He dwells in that feeling for a few moments and thinks it's silly, swiftly sits on his bike and catches up with the group in a matter of seconds. He lifts his chin up a bit, trying to see through a pack of helmets to find the one that's not just yellow and black but also a bit blue and red, reminding him of his RedBull helmet that he's using in cyclocross. There he is, still chatting, he can hear his voice in the small distance between them and he wants to just to...

"Hey, Wout!" Robert Gesink is slowly balancing his wheel, being now parallel to Wout who's looking rather startled by his teammate's loud greeting.

"Hi, Robert." Wout is annoyed again, why are people keep disturbing him today, when he has so much on his mind to think about? That's all he wants to do, really. All he needs to do. There's so many questions rising up in his chest these days and he wants to just be in silence. Be in his world. And now all he wants to do is just listen to that voice in front of their little group, now slowly picking up the pace.

"So, what do you think of him?" Robert looking at Wout cheerfully through his sunglasses.

"Who?"

"Who? Our Queen Bee."

Wout feels a sphere of heat forming around his temples and they're not even on the steepest section of the climb yet. "What do you mean?" he asks sheepishly.

"Well, he looks kinda rejuvenated this season, don't you think? The shape's looking good, his mind is in the right place. He's fucking ready to win the Tour this year. That's the feeling I have. I think he'll come out guns blazing..."

"Yeah... He looks good, I mean, he looks in shape, well, looks ready...", words stammering on Wout's tongue and Robert looks at him with concern. _Pull it together, what's wrong with you, why are you so fucking nervous?! He's just having a conversation_. Wout is trying to make himself steady on the bike and in his head.

"Are you not feeling well today, Wout? You've looked kinda absent-minded all day..."

"No, it's just a weird day, let's grind this one out and be done with it, eh?" They stomp on the pedals.

It is, however, a beautiful day. All days in Spain are, really, but the bright blue sky that's beaming down on Wout's face makes him feel like he's part of some nostalgic old movie, some old song that you listened to as a kid, the one that touched that special place in your soul for the first time, when all your body gets electrified by the harmony, the catchy chorus and the soul just wants to cry out loud _hold me, be with me, because this is so good, it feels so good, it's better than love._..

Wout looks up to the top of the curvy road, sees a slender figure in slovenian national champion's jersey, pedaling effortlessly up to the summit. A sharp breeze catches Wout's face and suddenly he feels the spring, feels the chill that gently seeps into his bones, he smells the scents of this mountain, he senses the nature's rebirth and inevitably, he feels like he's being reborn again as well.


	2. Du bist meine Reinheit, mein Glück vor Sonnenaufgang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Vor Sonnen-Aufgang by Laibach.

The day's work is done early today as riders and their crew return to the hotel they've been staying at here in Spain. There's no other guests here, just the team staff and a whole lot of riders, usually training in groups of four, six or eight. They randomly take showers, get massages and some treatments and few of them are already hanging out by the pool or one of the spacious hotel lobbies that now serves them as sort of a gathering space, a living room. The mood is chipper and everyone is excited about the coming days, even if they're gonna be hard, long and not always the most pleasant. When it's time for dinner every member of the team is sitting at the many tables that fill out hotel's dining room. The air is filled with dutch and english mash of words.

"So, we're gonna bring a table to the other side of the hotel then, on that porch by the cypresses, ok? Dylan, you and Mike bring some chairs down from the balconies…" George continues to give instructions to his teammates while his mouth's still full of rice. "I'll make sure we got enough beer."

"What are you planning exactly, Georgie?" Robert looks at him amused.

"What, nothing… Just a chill sit down evening with mates. We can play some cards if you want."

"Ugh..." Sepp groans. "No."

"But why the back of the building? It's perfectly fine to sit by the pool, there's enough benches there and…", Robert is confused now. "There's nothing on the other side of the hotel."

"Exactly, that's why we're bringing tables and chairs, Rob! Besides, I'm sick of the pool and Grischa staring down at us every evening from his balcony, yelling we should not drink that much and how we should just go to bed already. At 11?! I mean, is he serious?? …" George is getting animated now.

"Well, no, the truth is, George just wants to watch the sunset..." Sepp intervenes and George makes sure to slap his friend's head before he says anything more. Sepp is faster though and dodges the hand at the last second.

"I'm going to bed early tonight so count me out." Robert declares. "My back's killing me today."

"You're no fun." George whines and Wout is getting more and more annoyed as this conversation is going on. He's not having a great day. The last part of the climb he suffered like a dog and his head is throbbing from so many voices entruding his space today. He's not gonna attend George's gathering, that's for sure.

"Rogla, you're coming, right??" George looks at Primož with pleading puppy eyes. This evening is not gonna be any fun with just Sepp, Mike and Dylan, he worries, and people continue turning down his well-intended invitation.

Long sigh. Wout looks at Primož with the corner of his eye, his heart starting to beat faster and it confuses Wout somewhat. _Why are you like this??_

"Sure, why not. I could do with a beer or two", and he swiftly stands from the table, grabs his plate. "And a sunset…"

Primož runs up one of the staircases to his and Steven's room, as Wout stares behind him, rather blankly.

"Oh, Wout, and you're coming as well, right? Great." George declares without waiting to get an answer from Wout, as he, too, grabs his dishes and leaves the table.

 _Sure I'll come_ , Wout is thinking in his head that's starting to throb even more.

\---

There's already a ton of laughter coming from George's new "party place" as Wout is slowly making his way through the narrow hallway and the back door of the hotel. This space is mainly for the hotel staff to hang out but now it's been occupied with two small round tables and chairs gathered from all over the place. _Oh, great, some are drunk already_ , Wout is thinking to himself. He's clearly not in the mood to be socializing, but here he is.

And so is _he_. Primož is sitting behind one of the tables, flicking through his phone while George, Sepp and the rest of the squad are passing around some bowls of snacks and setting up an impressively large collection of different beers. Wout quickly takes a seat right next to Primož, before anyone else decides to take the spot.

"Wout, you're here, finally, what are you having?" George is looking way too hyper, holding up two different beers in his lively hands, his eyes wide open, staring at Wout's uninterested face.

"Um, nothing, my head's not been feeling right lately…" Wout starts to explain but George is already too busy arguing with Mike which beer is actually good and which one sucks, that he doesn't even let Wout to finish his sentence.

"Your head hurts?" a gentle voice close to Wout asks with a hint of worry in it. He looks to his right and there's Primož, looking at him, his eyebrow slightly raised in question.

Wout stammers a bit, "Yeah, I've had a headache since we rode down the mountain today."

"You should get some sleep. It'll go away sooner." serious tone now.

"Ah, no, I'll be fine. It's not that bad. Besides, I didn't wanna miss the sunset." Wout explains with a chuckle, trying to sound a bit more uplifting.

Primož laughs and smiles at him, his eyes still watching Wout's as his gaze slowly averts to the big ball of orange and yellow that's slowly moving down towards the horizon. The rest of the boys finally settle down around the tables and start drinking, chatting loudly about all variety of topics, the new movies, the music (George is particularly opinionated about this), the bikes, their girlfriends, the places to visit… Wout tries to listen and contribute to the debates but his heart is so not in it. He watches his quiet teammate, being sparse with words as well, staring into the fields and trees that spread as far as the eye can see. Suddenly, the sun is nothing more but a vibrant sparkle, lingering in the distance and the sky turns into bright orange and pink hues, at some places even a hint of purple. Wout looks at Primož's face as he watches the art forming in the sky, appearing almost Buster Keaton like, his expression marble-faced. But his eyes look alive though, very much alive as the burning sun makes his pupils form little tiny flames in them, playing and dancing around until the mighty orb finally decides to say goodbye and drifts away, leaving the world in its empty haze of pre-dusk.

\---

"Yeah, we gotta find a girlfriend for Rogla. He's way too cute to be alone forever." George is hiccuping through his laughter, clearly having drunk too much beer.

Wout feels the shivers all over his body, not sure if it's because it's getting a bit chilly outside or because of something else.

"OK, enough with this bullshit." Mike shouts through George's matchmaking plans. "Man, I can't wait to be racing again! Strade Bianche, Paris-Roubaix, huh? Wout, what do you say? Are we gonna fucking destroy them all or not?"

"We sure will!" Wout exhales, excitement back in his voice. Finally, something he can really talk about and he and Mike immediately fall into conversation about two of Wout's favorite races. As he's talking eagerly, Wout can clearly feel the man on his right is looking at him. He glances at Primož a few times and can't help but to feel something foreign forming underneath his ribs. Something like warm anticipation.

"Primož, we're racing Dauphiné with you, right?" Mike inquires.

"I'm not racing Dauphiné this year."

A ton of bricks falls on Wout head. If his head didn't hurt enough before, it's really starting to form a big old uproaring mess of a disorder inside of itself now.

"What, why not?" Mike's almost as surprised as Wout is.

"I don't know, DSs and I, we think it would be best if I took care of myself before the Tour, not risk an injury, like it happened last year. I mean, we'll see, you know what I mean…"

"Alright, guys, it's half past midnight, we should go to our rooms now. Unless you wanna suffer some extra before tomorrow's tt day." Sepp starts picking up empty cans and bottles as others join him, grumpily filling the trash bag with garbage.

\---

Wout's heart is racing in his chest again. He and Primož are the last ones to leave the porch. Others are walking to their rooms and Sepp is desperatly trying to make George walk more quietly and not wake half of the hotel up with his shenanigans.

They're climbing the stairs together and Wout is nervously looking at Primož's back. Their rooms are right next to each other and their respective roommates are long fast asleep.

"Primož?" Wout whispers, as they reach the top of the stairs. He wants to say something here, not infront of the doors, does not wanna wake anybody up.

"Yes?" curious look, straight through Wout's eyes.

 _Fuck_ , Wout is trying to think fast. "You should still do the Dauphiné."

"Why?" now even more curious.

"Because… you should win it this year. You should have won it last year. You would have won it if not for the stupid accident. You know, and it's an important race, building up to the Tour, and…" Wout does not know what else to say. The thought of not racing much with Primož this year suddenly makes him empty inside, sad almost. They have such opposite schedules. Yes, they are meant to race the Tour together, but that's just one race… And Dauphiné, is important. It's special… to Wout.

Primož is quiet, one hand resting on the staircase. The silence creeping in between them and Wout doesn't mind that his teammate does not answer. He seems deeply in his thought and now looking at the wooden floor and the carpet in the middle, Wout dares to stare at Primož with all his might. He doesn't care about anything anymore.

"You know that fall, when my gears suddenly skipped and the bike literally threw me on the asphalt…" Primož's eyes now finally meeting Wout's again. Oh, yes, Wout knows, he was the first one to gaze at his friend's wounds and bruises after the crazy thing happened. The thought of it turns his stomach.

"I would have quit that day. I was in such pain that all I wanted to do was to sit in Grischa's car and go home. But you pulled me to the side and said »You're not quitting Primož, you're gonna get though this day, you're gonna defend this yellow jersey, come on, you can do it, I'll help you get back. We'll catch the peloton, don't worry. I'll help you. I'll help you all the way to the finish«, do you remember?"

"Yeah."

"Before that, when I was sitting in the car, both Richard and Grischa told me the same thing. That I should try and finish the stage. If I was not feeling too bad to do it, ofcourse. I said to them, I am not finishing." Primož waits a few pauses, his glance stuck on the floor again. "It was only when _you_ said it to me, that I really found the motivation to do it. I could not say no to you. You've helped me so much, done so much for me. I wasn't gonna let you down that day. So... "

"Primož, you don't have to…"

"It really meant a lot to me. That you were there for me." Primož interrupts, his voice slightly louder as he locks his eyes with Wout again.

The whole of Wout is just a mess right now as the headache moves through his body, his stomach, his ribs, his throat, his heart. Everything thumps in him now, everything hurts and he's beginning to wonder if maybe he's starting to get sick. Little droplets of sweat starting to formulate on his forehead. His eyes must have turned some kind of desperate because Primož notices and asks concernly if he's feeling ok. _No, not ok._ "I'm alright." he manages to utter and Primož takes him by the elbow and slowly guides him towards their rooms. Wout is thankful for it, because the whole situation is making him dizzy.

"Goodnight, Wout. Get some good sleep, please. Do you need anything?"

"No, Primož, thank you. See you tomorrow. Night."

Doors close behind them and Wout is desperatly trying to take his clothes off as fast as possible, because he seriously fears he's going to faint. When he's finally in nothing but his boxers he climbs on his bad, sliding under the covers, peering at Robert on the other side of the room who's sleeping deeply in his bed.

 _What's going on with me?_ , he wonders, his heart's aching and only now starting to slow down a bit. Staring at the ceiling he's getting calmer, his body relaxing, sinking into the comfy bed. It all feels much better now that he's lying down. He doesn't dare to think of the man in the other room. Of what he actually feels towards him. There's way too many options, bubbling to the surface and every one scares the shit out of him. Now that he's alone in the dark, he cannot bare to think about what if. Or maybe it's all just way too obvious. Like how the sun sets every night and how it rises again in the morning. He's not gonna get much sleep tonight. That's what he's sure of. And soon enough the dawn comes seeping through the blinds. Wout's eyes are dully making out the shapes of the faintly lit room. His eyelids are heavy and he doesn't remember if he actually got an hour of sleep.

It's still early and all of a sudden he wakes up completely. He gets out of bed, walks carefully towards one of the windows. Looking outside and he sees it again. The sun. Slowly, slowly peeking out inbetween the hills in the distance, coloring Wout's face with warm pale yellow.

 _Primož_ , he thinks. That's who he thinks about. And it's obvious.


	3. I want you to believe... to believe in things that you cannot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Bram Stoker's Dracula.

"It's time trial daaaay!" mouth's grinning from ear to ear on Tony Martin's face.

"Jeez, at least one of us is excited." George is grumbling to his chin while trying to fix his shoes.

Sepp looks down at him from his time trial bike, "C'mon, I'm quite excited actually."

"Liar." George's hangover preventing him from throwing out anything more taunting.

Wout is slowly maneuvering his bike towards them, attentively looking around big hotel parking lot where most of their trucks, cars and other stuff is parked. It's a busy atmosphere, mechanics and other staff members walking around, preparing for another day of effective training.

The group is getting ready and sporting directors are packing things into their cars, shouting last minute instructions to their riders. But Wout is missing something. Well, missing someone.

"Where's Primož?" he's trying to ask as habitually as possible.

Sepp peers at him with a hint of curiousity in his eyes, "I believe he went with the first group, earlier in the morning," he puts his helmet on his head, "they should be coming back by now." And as Sepp says it, the group of four riders on their tt bikes swerves down the road and into the parking lot.

Wout checks himself to not look too dissapointed. He nervously fumbles with his handlebars as Primož rides towards them with high speed, braking rather abruptly right next to Wout's bike.

"Slow down, man! Rogla, who are you trying to kill?!" George is just growly today as he barely manages to make anything on his bike or on himself as he likes it. One of the mechanics desperatly throwing his hands in the air, trying to help George in any way he can.

Sepp is shaking his head, "That's it, no more alcohol for you tonight."

"Meh…" George replies.

Wout's breath gets shallow as he watches Primož take off his helmet.

"How's the new helmet?" he really can't think of anything more interesting to ask.

Primož looks at him for the first time, rubs his eye for a second, "Well, I don't know, to be honest. It's supposed to be all super-aero and shit but it just sits weirdly on my head. I don't really like it, eh? I prefer the old model. Or maybe it's just the shape of my head that's weird."

_Your head is fucking beautiful!_

"Nah, I'm sure you and the coaches are gonna figure it out. That's why we do millions of tests."

"Mhm…"

Wout's eyes get fixated on Primož's face. His forehead forming two little lines as the eyebrows shift closer together while he examines the interior of his helmet, turning it around in his hands. His eyes now severe in concentration, trying to figure out how to solve something. It's such a contrast to his usual soft and gracious look but Wout is quite intrigued by it. In fact, he can't seem to stop staring now as Primož's expression relaxes, becomes almost tender as he decides to stop looking at the helmet. Sepp starts asking him some questions so he turns his head towards him, listening, answering the best he can. His profile now fully exposed to Wout's view.

And Wout just cannot help but to let himself feel the way he feels. The past week he's not been his normal self at all. And it's been slowly driving him insane. Constantly tense and nervous, unease forming inside him every few hours for reasons unknown. And shame. He's been feeling ashamed about it and this is probably the worst of it all. Ashamed that another man is making him feel like he can't control anything anymore, control himself anymore. And every once in a while something else creeps within. Fear. Fear of what it all means.

But that is not him. That is not Wout van Aert. He's not supposed to be afraid of anything and how could something like this even shake such a strong character that he is? He's done feeling like shit, he wants to relax again, feel his body breathe at ease again. Let himself be spontaneous and wild, enraptured by everything that's beautiful and amazing in his life. Because that's pure and honest. Just like him.

 _God, is he beautiful. His dark eyes so focused and engaged when he's talking to people._ Wout loves it when Primož's gaze gets lost in the distance, when he admires the nature, when he sees something that makes him smile, but he especially loves it when Primož is looking at him. _His cheekbones are out of this world. The way they make these sharp shadows on both sides of his stubble. It looks so strong, so manly._ The thought scares him a bit but he cannot not do this anymore. He's getting sucked into Primož's features and now he admires them with complete dedication. Without feeling weird about it. _Why should I feel weird about it? Because it's not normal? Ofcourse it's normal. There's thousands of people in this world that like people of the same gender. Wout, wake up. This is how it is._ And the unknown weight now gradually lifts itself from Wout's shoulders. He breathes. And breathes again. His eyes now wandering all over Primož's body. His elegant neck, his collarbone that's being exposed by slightly opened skinsuit, his stomach, his hand that is now casually resting on his thigh, so close to his… crotch. _Oh, god…_ Wout immediately looks up, Primož is still chatting with Sepp. He looks around. No one has noticed what he's been doing. He exhales deeply.

Wout didn't even realize his hands got all cold and sweaty. He's been clinging to his bike in a weird position for so long that now he's totally cramped up. Not to mention all kinds of new sensations happening in his body while admiring his teammate's anatomy.

"Alright, boys, let's move it, we're behind schedule!!!" Addy, one of the sporting directors, suddenly screams at the top of his lungs, making everyone jump.

"Argh, my ears!" George cries as he was standing the closest to Addy, who is now hopping into the car, waving his hands manically as to force his flock to move already.

"You'd think we're marching to war…" George sneers and prays to god his head stops throbbing soon.

The riders slowly depart, Wout propping his foot on the pedal, he looks at Primož one last time and Primož is already looking at Wout.

"Have fun, guys," he smiles and flashes a small shy wink at him, driving off to one of the team's equipment trucks.

Wout barely manages to steady himself as he was caught completely off guard by Primož's gesture. Even though he knows Primož does this a lot, it was still so unexpected, so heartwarming. He can't stop thinking about it anymore. His mind feels a bit more liberated all of a sudden and it allows itself to think about certain things again. Without feeling ashamed, without feeling stressed or even afraid. The mind can think of anything really, but the heart feels what is right. And feeling what Wout feels about Primož is right.

It knows it.


	4. So close to the flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Close To The Flame by HIM.

It's a really, really warm day today. And it's a rest day, so Wout decides to give his body some well deserved break. After lunch he finally makes up his mind about what he was going to do this afternoon. He picks up his phone, a bottle of water and heads outside to the pool. He's surprised no one's there but when he thinks about it, he's glad to have some time alone for himself. It is unusually quiet around the hotel today. Some riders opting for an easy spin on their bikes, some preferring to stay in their rooms, call their loved ones or just chill and relax.

He picks out a bench in a far off corner of the tiled area that surrounds the pool, lies down, puts his things on a small table next to him and exhales deeply. He enjoys how surrounding trees are throwing little mingling shadows of their leaves all over his body. His muscles now starting to loosen up, his skin purring with pleasure as it's getting caressed by warm sunshine and a gentle breeze. He closes his eyes.

It's only been a couple of minutes when he hears light footsteps approaching his bench.

_Great. My peace is over._

He opens his eyes. Squints, the sun is shining too bright.

Thin figure in shorts and a T-shirt stops infront of him, blocking the sun so it turns vaguely black and unrecognizable.

"Hi, Wout!"

_This voice. His favorite voice._

"Hello." Wout's voice trembles ever so slightly.

"Do you mind if I join you? I figured I should get some vitamin D today."

"Not at all."

He watches as his teammate throws himself on the bench on the other side. It's turned at a ninety degree angle towards Wout so he can now fully see his figure without having to turn his head too much. Primož lets out a satisfying sigh, closes his eyes and streches his limbs.

"Yes, this is good."

"Did you go for a ride today?" Wout tries to start a conversation.

"Just a short one in the morning. You?"

"Nah, not today."

"That's fine. Sometimes you need a break, ah?"

"We're halfway through the camp, it's going fast…"

"It is. Man, it's hot today…"

Primož sits up and pulls off his T-shirt. He throws it on the bench next to him and leans back, shuts his eyes again. His torso and arms now completely bare.

Wout swallows hard and lets out an uneasy breath. He didn't realize he was holding it in. Unable to look away from the man lying just a meter across from him, he marvels at the brightness of his pale skin, his chest now slowly rising and falling in deep relaxation, his abdominal muscles so sharp and prominent, his arms shaped in elegant curves. Wout's heart starts beating faster and he feels the sweet warm sensation spreading from his stomach to his shoulders and arms, up to his cheeks, down his waist… He's never felt like this when looking at someone's body before and he was in love with many beautiful girls throughout his life. He knows the attraction, the desire, the lust, he knows it quite well enough. But not like this. There's nothing that he could compare this to.

The silence between them is growing but none of them feels the need to talk. Wout is expecting it to become awkward as the minutes pass, but it's not. On a contrary. It feels nice. It feels alright. At a certain moment he figures Primož just fell asleep but then when he sees him scratch his forearm, brush a stray lock of hair away from his eyes, he knows Primož is in fact awake. _I wonder what he's thinking about. I wonder what he dreams about at night. Who does he fantisize about? Would he ever see me the way I see him now? What if he does?_

There's nothing Wout wishes for more that this. He looks at Primož's face and suddenly his sensual lips form into a subtle smile. You can barely see it, but Wout almost losses his mind. And there's so many things he wants to do right now, his whole body is vibrating, his heart thumping deep in his stomach. He imagines what it would be like to just come over and lie next to Primož. To prop his one arm on the back of the bench, the other one gently across Primož's chest, place the palm where his heart is. He imagines himself looking into those brown eyes and see the man looking back at him, lovingly and longingly. He would kiss his eyelids, first one and then the other, kiss between his eyebrows, kiss his forehead, his temples and cheekbones, his cute little nose, he would then slowly kiss the chin and finally save the best for the last. Wout closes his eyes and tenses as he pictures placing his lips on the lips of this man. This gorgeous, amazing man. They kiss passionately, reverently. Breathing in synchrony. Wout's hand now caressing his jawline, his cheeks, his chest again, now travelling down to his abdomen, to his hips and…

_I need to stop this! Or I'm going to make a mess of myself! Right here, in front of him…_

Cautiously, Wout opens his eyes. He takes a quick sip out of his water bottle, checks the time on his phone. There's been more than an hour since he got here. The sun's not as high on the sky anymore and the afternoon slowly shifts its shades and highlights. He finally dares to look at Primož, hoping he's not as flush in his face as he feels he is.

Primož's eyes peacefully gaze at him.


	5. My home's in your arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song In Joy And Sorrow by HIM.

"Full house." Wout lays his cards on the table and cracks a satisfactory grin.

"What?!"

"Argh, fuck!"

"Really, Wout, again?!" Robert looks at his teammate in disbelief.

"That's like eight in a row…" Tony throws his cards in the pile.

"Gah, why do we even bother playing if you don't let anyone else win?!" George protests, pretending to be more upset than he actually is.

The boys have been passing their time this evening by playing poker in the hotel lobby.

"It's mostly just luck." Wout tries to be modest, though he knows he's always excelled at card games.

"Is there anything you're not good at?" George asks rather rhetorically, gathering the cards together, shuffling them frantically.

"Umm, sleeping?"

"Huh?"

"I've had the worst insomnia this training camp," Wout explains. "I don't think I ever got more than three hours of sleep per night."

"That's really bad." Tony furrows his brows.

"Yeah, you should do something about it. Take something or..." Robert's trying to think of something that helps with sleeping problems but he's never had a sleeping problem.

"No, I think it's getting better, last night I actually slept a bit more, but I must have been in a very bad position because I got this sharp pain in my neck and the right shoulder and my upper back…" Wout feels like he's already complaining too much, "It's fucking awful." he adds.

But it's true. He's been in pain and right now he feels the need to unload and whine a bit. After all, he's been keeping way too many things inside him, not being able to share them with anyone, not being able to talk to anyone. All of a sudden he feels a bit of relief to lament to his teammates about something.

"But you did get some treatment on it, right?" Robert inquires.

"Yeah, I've had two massages today. Didn't get any better. Björn said if it's from a bad sleeping position it'll go away in a day or two anyway."

"OK, should we play one more game?" George is looking bored now, secretly hoping someone would suggest something else they could do. "Hey, Rogla, you wanna play cards with us?"

"Hey. No, thanks." Primož stops behind Tony's armchair and scans the little club table the four of them have been sitting around for the past few hours. "I'm looking for my book. Have you seen one here, by any chance?"

"You read? Books?" George giggles, as no one else thinks he's being funny.

"Really, George, you're hilarious." Wout looks at him with a weary face.

Primož doesn't bother to answer, he walks around the room, looking at other tables, turning over piles of newspapers and magazines from the past week, tossing over some pillows on the couches and checking behind armchairs. He looks towards the front door, "Maybe I left it by the pool."

"You're not gonna find it there, because it's pitch dark outside. Besides, why would you wanna read books, it's a fucking waste of time."

"George, just shut your mouth, please." Wout's had enough.

"Oooh, someone's being protective…"

"No, why don't you just leave people alone every once in a while?"

"OK, guys, calm down…" Tony's thinking they don't want this to escalate any further.

"C'mon, now," George is raising his hands up in peace, "Primož knows I'm just messing around, right, mate?" he looks at Primož with the sweetest look he can master. "We need some fun around here. Otherwise we'd just train and ride and eat and sleep. And suffer."

"It's alright, Georgie." Primož sends him a reassuring smile as he's about to leave.

"Oy, Rogla, wait, wait!" George yells after him.

Primož looks back, "What?"

"Why don't you give Wout some massage? He's been crying all night how his neck and shoulders hurt like hell, 'cause he's not been sleeping right and…"

"What, no, I have not been crying all night!!" Wout's breath gets stuck in his throat, _for fuck's sake_ , his cheeks turning slightly pink. "I thought we were done with you messing around."

"But I'm serious. Primož gives some pretty good massages, probably because he doesn't know what he's doing." George now chuckling, unable to contain his excitement anymore. Even more, he thinks this is the most clever idea ever. "Just ask Robert, he gave him a massage once when we were on this absurdly long bus transfer during last year's Vuelta. Robert's whole back was hurting and Primož just bloody took care of it." George looks at Robert, hoping for some assistance.

"Yeah, it's true. He was rubbing my back for like, half an hour straight. And during Tour de l'Ain he helped Tom as well."

"And did it work?" Tony asks with a sly smile on his face. This is getting amusing now.

"It certainly didn't make it worse." Robert concludes and looks at Wout with a little wink that nobody else notices.

"I can try if you want." Primož's voice kind of somber as he's walking towards Wout now.

"I… I don't know, you probably don't feel like doing it, huh? We've had a tough day riding and…" Wout feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest.

"I don't mind, really."

_What the hell is happening right now? Is this really happening right now?!_

"Just let him do it, Wout." George interjects. "I have to take a piss."

Wout looks at Primož, eyes staring at his, looking for a consent.

"OK."

"OK, take your shirt off."

Wout inhales deeply as Primož lays his hands on his shoulders, turning him slightly. "You should turn your back towards me, like this. Are you comfortable?"

No, he's not comfortable. But he's in fucking bliss.

\---

This was not the first time Primož touched Wout. They've hugged countless of times already, especially at the finish line when one of them took the victory, they've patted each other's backs in encouragement or appreciation or consolation. They've stood beside each other while changing into their cycling clothes, they've sat beside each other during bus meetings and team meals and they've been beside each other through many hours of suffering in the saddle.

But this tonight was another territory. It was completely different for Wout because of all the newly accumulated feelings and emotions he has developed for his teammate in the past few weeks. It was exhilarating and he was not prepared for it. He was glad that Tony and Robert fell into a deep conversation, because he could not bear someone staring at them while they were doing this. Wout's heart was beating so hard, he was worried Primož would feel it on him through his hands. _These hands of his, though._

For professional athletes getting a massage is as common as taking a shower every day. It's a process that is so familiar and natural to them that a pair of hands, kneading almost every part of their body is far from anything special, to say the least.

This was special. Primož started by gently kneading Wout's shoulders, the most basic massage technique pretty much everyone knows how to do.

"You should relax your shoulders first."

Wout was trying to relax and it took him longer than he usually needs. After all, he's never been massaged by _him_ before. When Primož felt Wout's body slowly getting loose, he slid his palms up and down his shoulders with a few longer strokes and now the most intense warmth cradled into Wout's chest, disabling him to think clearly or even think about anything anymore. Primož embraced Wout's neck with his fingers and gently massaged the back of it with both his thumbs. Carefully rubbing around the base of his skull, through the middle and down to his shoulder blades. Wout didn't even notice when George came back and glanced at them with a satisfying expression on his face, like _I fucking made that happen, you better thank me for it later, Wout._

And Wout was thankful, so thankful. He was craving for a touch like that for years. Craving to be in the hands of someone he liked so very much, more and more with each passing day spent in their company. Sure, Primož was no professional, but the way he was weaving his hands from Wout's neck to his upper back, how he was rubbing his shoulders, once in small sharp strokes, other time in longer and deeper ones, how for a few moments he used his knuckles and then went to intense kneading again... The way he was doing this, it could only be done by someone with a profound feel and understanding for the needs of another person. It was so good and so soothing, Wout unintentionally closed his eyes midway through it. He forgot about the outside world, forgot they were in the hotel lobby in the middle of Spain, forgot he was in the presence of other teammates, forgot about the time. There was only him and Primož.

"How does it feel? Is it too rough? Does it hurt here?" Primož's voice rings through Wout's hazy mist of relief and pleasure.

"It's perfect." the words roll out of Wout's mouth before he could stop them.

He hears the man behind him laugh happily. "I'm glad."

A few more minutes pass by and Wout decides (even though he would want this to last forever) that he should say his thanks now. He turns around, looks at Primož who now stops and lets the hands rest on his shoulders. Wout doesn't want to be shy around him anymore. There's an intimacy that's been gradually building between them and he can't deny it now. He wants more of it.

"Thank you, Primož. Really."

"Anytime."

Smiles.


	6. Cut out all the ropes and let me fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Skinny Love by Birdy.

_There's something different about today_ , Wout slowly opens his eyes and stretches his long arms, lifting them over the covers then crosses them on the pillow, underneath his head. His still sleepy gaze now wandering around the room that is fully brightened by the morning sunshine. _Hm, this is strange._ Finally it hits him. He checks the time on his phone, 7.45. _What the…_ He woke up. And he's been sleeping. He fell asleep and he's been sleeping! Through the whole night! Wout sits up in his bed and now he feels it. The rejuvenation. The invigoration. This is the first time in almost three weeks that he woke up truly rested. Without pain. Happy almost.

He looks at Robert's bed and it's empty. _He's probably already left for breakfast. How many days are there left? Three. Three more days. And it's the last rest day today._ His mind is thinking carefully. _Oh, it's actually march 1st today. Wait, what? Strade Bianche is less than a week away! And then he'll be in Italy for a month, then in Belgium for spring classics, then it's France for Paris-Roubaix… That's gonna be in april already. But, when's the Dauphiné?_ He's trying to think hard. _That's so far ahead._ And then it dawns on him. _Primož said he's not even gonna be at the Dauphiné! Fuck… Fuck! I'm not gonna see him for more than three months, until our next altitude camp in Tignes, just weeks before the Tour de France._ A cold hand squeezes his heart and his whole body trembles in shock. How is he gonna do this? How is he gonna endure this? He's grown so used to being able to see the man every day now that the thought of this not happening for _three freaking months_ just… He doesn't even wanna think about it and he doesn't wanna imagine it. Another thought pops into his head. He jumps out of his bed, grabs some clothes and rushes to the bathroom. _There's no time to waste._

\---

Down in the dining room the air is buzzing like in a wasps nest. Everybody is there and it feels like the end of a summer camp. Another day of relaxation and it's gonna be over. The races are gonna start before you know it. Everyone realizes this is the last opportunity to use these few days as effectively as they can, prepare themselves as efficiently as possible and then give it their all and hope for the best.

Wout is looking around, searching for messy dark hair in the sea of people who are loading their trays with food and sitting by the numerous tables. Finally he sees him, filling his bowl with porridge. Wout walks towards Primož urgently and he doesn't care how it all looks.

"Hi."

"Hey-hey!" Primož answers cheerfully as he sprinkles some freshly cut fruit on top of his bowl.

"I was thinking of going for an easy ride today, just around those surrounding hills, nothing crazy… Do you wanna come with?" Wout holds his breath.

"Umm…"

_Well, crap._

"We have another strategy planning meeting this morning. You forgot? Pretty important and serious stuff, as Grischa put it." Primož is smiling to himself. "But I think it's only gonna be until lunch time. Then we're free, so… We can go in the afternoon."

"Yeah, we can go in the afternoon."

"Now let's eat. I'm starving."

They sit by the table and eat in silence while other riders chat and crack jokes. They talk about what they're gonna do after the meetings and Wout is anxiously hoping Primož doesn't remember to invite anyone else to their afternoon ride. Because he wants them to be alone. Just the two of them.

\---

The spring is here and Wout is feeling it. His eyes are glowing with joy, his legs are light and he's laughing with his teammate while they're carefreely ascending and descending the old and picturesque spanish landscape.

"I'm nervous about Tirreno." Wout confesses.

"Why would you be nervous?" Primož looks at him, stucks his sunglasses in his helmet.

"It's the first race I'll be riding for the GC. Especially now that Tom's gone, I kinda feel even more pressure."

"You don't have to. It's a hard one. I raced the freaking thing four times and only managed to win it once." Primož chuckles loudly, "by one second!"

Wout looks at him, somewhat reconciled.

"You’ll do great. I know it."

He feels that warmth again.

They ride in silence for a few minutes and come across a large grassy field, spreading out towards the woods in a few short distances. Primož stops and looks across, examining the trees, then the field...

"What is it?" Wout stops as well.

"Wout, look?"

He turns his bike and drives back to Primož, now looking at the meadowy terrain as well. "It's a path. A route."

"A bike route. A whole bunch of them." Primož adds.

"It looks like a training ground. For… cyclocross? What the hell?!" Wout starts to laugh. "I didn't expect to see this here, in the middle of Spain."

"Is it going all the way through the woods?"

"Yeah, it probably does." Wout dismounts his bike and moves across the field, looking at the swervy lines of dirt and wider areas of sand plastered all over the track.

"You know, I've never done any cyclocross." Primož says somewhat quietly.

"You've been missing out then." Wout shakes his head, pretending to be dissapointed.

"Never even tried it. Like, in training."

"Really, never? Well, I'm not surprised, your bike handling is shit." Wout decides to tease some more, "and you're way too stiff."

Primož bursts out laughing and he cannot stop for a good minute. It takes Wout completely by surprise so he has to laugh as well.

"It's true. Many people have told me I look like a robot when I ride my bike."

Wout can't help but to feel a bit of remorse.

"Yeah, that, but your technique is actually one of the most fluid ones in the peloton. Very elegant."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, when you come from a sport where keeping your posture and position is the most important thing, then that's what you get."

Right, he almost forgot, Primož used to be a ski jumper.

"I could never do that. The heights scare the shit out of me."

"Ehh, you get used to it, eventually."

"Is it harder than cycling?"

"It's a different kind of hard. It's all about the form and explosiveness. And the right technique. You sit on the bench, look down into the fucking abyss, concentrate, push yourself off, slide down the ramp in the right position so that you're fast and aero enough, and then you have to jump at the right time, you can't be too early and you can't be too late, gotta keep the momentum and than when you're in the air, it has to be the right position again otherwise you're gonna crash and than you hold it, hold it, hold it. I'm not even gonna explain about the landing part.«

"It does sound hard."

"Yeah, the people in Slovenia love it. It's a national sport and the flying hill in Planica is pretty much a cult symbol for our country. I mean, the atmosphere is insane, especially because it's the last competition of the season and it's in mid march. The weather is usually nice and warm already so you can fly really high…" Primož taps his fingers on his handlebars. "What's the most special race in cyclocross?"

"In Belgium it's Zonhoven." _One day I'm gonna take you there. And I'm gonna win it for you._

Wout looks at his phone. It's getting late and they should be heading back to the hotel before it starts to get dark.

"Hey, Wout."

"Mm?"

"Let's do it."

"Do what?"

Primož dismounts his bike and leads it onto the grass.

"Are you serious??"

"I know we don't have the right bikes for this but…"

"Dude, Grischa is going to kills us!"

"Not if he doesn't find out." Primož's mouth now forming into a mischievous smile.

Wout takes a sharp breath, thinks about all the worst case scenarios that could happen. This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea. Yes, they are on the wrong bikes to be doing this and that's not even the craziest thing. What if Primož hurts himself? Like seriously injures himself. And he's never done this before? _No way. Nuh-uh, no way._

"Please, Wout, I'll be careful. I'll ride right behind you and we won't race. We'll just drive through the course at a normal pace. Slowly, ok?"

Wout looks at him, _like I could ever say no to you._

"Fine, you'll have to be really focused when there's gravel or a tricky turn and always take the same lines I take, ok? And we're not doing the sand!"

Primož nods.

They enter the course.

\---

"OMG, this is really fucking fun."

"Ofcourse it's fun. What did you expect?" Wout smiles to himself, beaming with pride. After all, this is his world. And he's taking Primož along with him.

They've already reached the woodsy part and Wout is visibly relieved that the course is smooth and not really hard at all.

"Oww, fuck!"

There's a commotion behind Wout and he quickly turns around and gasps as Primož is lying in the dirt with whole of his right side spread on the ground, his bike on top of him. "Are you alright?! I forgot to tell you to avoid the roots."

"I know, I accidentally missed one." He untangles his legs from under the bike and takes Wout's hand to help himself up.

Wout scans his body for any scratches and Primož laughs at him, "I'm fine. It's a soft ground."

"We should turn around. Or we're gonna soon be riding in the dark."

"Yeah, we should." Primož's jersey and his bib shorts are now brown from the soil and as he tries to sweep off the dirt, something moves inside of Wout that he cannot hold out anymore. There's something about this whole ridiculous situation that it makes it so cinematic, like someone dreamed it up. As they're standing in the middle of the woods, tall trees rocking gently above them in the late afternoon wind with the sun, slowly losing its power, Wout feels the time is slipping away from him. He drops his bike on the ground and moves closer to Primož who now looks up and gazes at him in surprise. Wout's heart is beating like it's about to burst, striking so hard it hurts his chest. He's shaking but he can't go back now as he feels the whole earth will swallow him if he doesn't do this. His brain shuts down and his hands reach out for the man infront of him. Wout slides one hand behind his neck and draws him closer, their eyes lock for a second and he cups his shoulder with the other, pulls him into a kiss.

The sensation. Of these gentle lips, so soft and sensual. Wout could never have imagined it beforehand. Could not imagine in a million years it would be so intense and sweet and it touches him to the core of his being. The warmth, it radiates as they brush together shyly, their lips now formed into one, eyes closed. _Can this last forever?_

Wout takes a breath, leans back in for more. The other moves away. Their lips part, the shoulder escapes the hand.

Primož's eyes now stare at his. In shock.

_Oh, no._

"W… why did you do that?"

"Primož… I…"

"Why would you do that?" a whisper, face crooked in confusion, disbelief… in pain.

"I'm… sorry... I didn't mean to…"

The sky is falling down on Wout. A hailstorm. It rains torrential, with all its violence and its utmost agression and it hurts. So much. He cannot breathe and he cannot think. It's hitting and hitting and it's beating him up.

"I, um, I wanna go. Let's go."

The lightning strikes. Straight through the heart.

Primož picks up his bike, starts pushing it alongside him and continues to walk back through the woods, through the grassy field, back to the street. Wout is following him, his eyes filling with grayish fog that is starting to burn, his heartbeat barely pulsing in its pathetic agony. When they're back on the road, he glances at him.

Is this how the heart breaks? Because he cannot feel _it_ anymore.


	7. Serce bić przestało, bo mu Wiosny żal.

The whole ride back is a blur. When they arrive at the hotel it's already dark and Merijn Zeeman is pacing up and down the parking lot, letting out a huge sigh of relief when they dismount before him.

"Where the hell have you been?! We were about to call the police! Do you have any idea what time it is?!"

"We got lost…" Wout lies, avoiding his DS's intruding eyes.

"Lost? I was calling your phone…"

"Yeah, I could not answer, we were trying to ride as fast as possible to get back in time."

"Primož, and what happened to you, tell me you didn't crash?!!" Merijn now staring at Primož's dirty clothes, panic in his voice, looking for any wounds.

"No, it's nothing, I'm fine."

Merijn not convinced, "You wouldn't keep it from me, would you?" He's always been more protective towards Primož than other riders.

"I promise I'm ok."

"You guys look like a mess. I'm not sure I wanna know what happened to you. Go get inside, have some dinner. The rest of the boys are by the pool. You should join them, they've been worried, too."

"I'm not hungry." Wout mumbles and hurries inside. He can't take any more of this.

\---

Getting into his room his throat is in knots, his breathing rapid and shallow. He's unbelievably tired and drained. The room is empty and dark and he feels the loneliness piercing through his belly. He leans his back on the door and lets himself slide down on the floor, head falling on his knees. Wout takes a few desperate breaths and finally… tears flood his face.

_You fucking idiot! You stupid fucking idiot! Why did you do that? What the hell were you thinking?! You fucking…_

He's shaking and sobbing, catching his breath… _God, this is unbearable. Fuck, how this hurts!_ He lifts up his face, wet and swollen, buries both hands in his hair, crumpled from his helmet, sweat and dirt. _What have I done?… I've ruined everything now. Fucking wrecked it all…_ He stares at the balcony door into the darkness outside, listens for the sounds, hears some laughter coming from his teammates, subdued from down below.

 _But I had to kiss him_ , his head now fuzzy with emotions as he tries to force some sense into his thoughts. And he has to make sense of it all, otherwise he's gonna lose it. It'll drive him insane. _I could not look at him, the way he was, standing right there beneath the trees, covered in dirt, and not fucking kiss him. I had to. I had to._

He rolls back the film in his mind and relives the sheer joy he felt, holding him in his arms, leaning on his body, tasting his lips for the first time. If only for a few seconds. And for a moment there he thought Primož kissed him back. But it was all in his imagination. All his delight now morphed into black, as he wipes away the tears from his face.

_I'm in love with him. And he's not in love with me._

\---

The next day they're climbing high moutains. And climbing some more. The sporting directors make sure everyone suffers. After a whole day on the bike Wout is upset when they turn to go back to the hotel. He's clinging onto anything that will distract him from being alone again, alone with his thoughts and his misery. The more physical suffering the better, the less torturing his mind will be.

Primož and Wout avoid each other all day. Avoid the gazes, conversations, each other's paths…

But there's a few sensitive souls in this group of riders that figure out right away, something's wrong.

And by the end of the day, one decides to investigate the situation.

George takes a sit next to Primož on a big comfortable couch in the lobby.

"What are you reading?"

Primož looks at him, startled, only now noticing his teammate's presence.

"You know, I've been watching you for the last twenty minutes, you haven't turned a page." George snatches the book from Primož's hands, "Oh, Rilke, nice. Is this Letters to a Young Poet? I can't read slovene."

Primož surprised now, his distraction somewhat fading away. "Yeah, it is, I've read it several times already." his voice blank and empty, he takes his book back.

"What's wrong, Primož?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"God, you're a shitty liar."

Primož shruggs, eyes fixated on a coffee table infront of them.

"What happened the other day? With Wout? Merijn said you were both pale as ghosts, both distraught as hell."

George senses his friend's getting nervous, "Did you two have a fight, an argument or something?"

He shakes his head.

"Look, I've seen you both ignoring each other the whole day. And you obviously seem upset about it. That's not good for the team. And it's not good for you guys." George pauses and thinks of something, "Especially since you two always seemed like really good friends."

Sharp breath escapes Primož's mouth as he's pondering whether he should confide to George or is this the worst idea ever.

"He kissed me."

George's eyes widen. He decides to wait a moment.

"Did he?"

Primož feels the shame and discomfort, heating in his stomach.

"Well, I'm not surprised, really."

"What do you mean, you're not surprised?!" Primož looks at him like someone triggered him with high voltage.

"He stares at you constantly. Ofcourse you weirdo never notice anything. I didn't think much of it honestly."

Primož still looking at him, mouth slightly open, not sure what to think of his words.

"It's kinda funny with you Europeans. You don't care about nudity, you kiss total strangers like it's no big deal, you kiss between yourselves non-stop and then you're suddenly surprised when someone wants to fuck you."

A gasp, Primož's face turning beet red. "He does not wanna… fuck me."

"How do you know?" George has to laugh now. "I bet he does."

"It was not like that at all."

"How was it then?" George is dying of curiousity.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"And now you're gonna say you two weren't getting close?"

"Like I said. It's not like that." Primož desperatly trying to form the right words to explain himself. "We're just friends. I've always liked being around him and it seemed he enjoyed being around me, too." Deep exhale, "I always felt that we understood each other well. And in the races he always helped me, above and beyond. I never forget things like that."

"Sure." George playing with his shoelaces. "Why did he kiss you then?"

"I… don't know."

"He feels something for you, Primož! I don't think he would have done it if he didn't think you felt something for him too."

"Shh, keep it down. Yes, it's all my fault. That was all wrong anyway…"

"What, kissing a man?" George inquires with a serious face now. "Do you think that's wrong?"

"No, I just… never… thought about… I've never done it before." and he's blushing again.

"Well, he's a brave motherfucker, I'll give him that." George concludes with slight admiration in his voice. "But we knew that already. Did he tell you he liked you?"

"No, he didn't say anything. He just did it. And then I freaked out and…" Primož's eyes turn glassy.

"What did you do?"

"Just… walked away." Primož admits with a quiet guilt in his voice.

"How did it make him feel, you think?"

"Look, I feel bad about it, OK?! I didn't want it to turn out that way. It all happened so fast, I was not expecting it at all and I was in complete shock, can't you understand? I've been obsessing about this whole situation since the moment it happened and I don't know what to think of it anymore, I don't know how to feel… I know I hurt his feelings when I moved away, I… I didn't mean to…" Primož now breathing hysterically, stumbling over his words, George has never seen him so upset, never seen him this confused and puzzled before. And it fascinates him.

"OK, ok, calm down, everything's gonna be fine. Just breathe now."

Primož takes a deep breath, rubs his temples, fixates on a coffee table again.

"So, you're saying you don't have any feelings for him?"

"Don't ask me things like that."

"So, you do."

"George…"

"You would have said no, if there wasn't anything there, am I right??" _Finally, we're moving somewhere_ , George thinks to himself. He's not gonna let it go now. He may appear as a silly jokester most of the time, but he's smarter than everyone thinks.

"You're afraid of what other people may think."

"You know what, I've never been with a man in my whole life. This has obviously shaken me. I know we live in this modern society but most of the people still subconsciously think you're suddenly a different person if you're gay. They look at you like some sort of a sick special breed, like you're not just like the rest of them…" Primož's voice is cracking, battling through a lump in his throat, trying hard not to burst into tears. "I mean, the world nowadays is just… fucking pretending to be nice. And it's so not nice."

"Primož, it doesn't matter what you feel. If you feel there's nothing between you two, if you feel there is something. It doesn't matter. As long as you're honest with yourself. And you'll have to be honest with Wout as well. No matter what happens, there's nothing wrong with you. It's the world that is sick. Not you."

A pensive stare.

"And, besides, since when do you care what the world thinks about you?"

"You're truly nice, Georgie. And you're right." Primož looks at him, feeling a slight relief by his friend's words. "The truth is, I don't think I'm ready to… know what I truly feel. What I felt there with him yesterday."

"But you know _how_ it felt, right?"

"What?" Primož asks dumbly.

George laughs, "The kiss. Please, tell me how it felt, I wanna know."

"Why do you wanna know?" Primož, shy again, thinking of the way out.

Impatient sigh.

He thinks about it again. Like he's been thinking about it through the whole day, riding up and down the fucking mountains, unable to calm his racing heart, his restless mind. Unable to forget those sensual lips, touching his lips.

"It was intense."

"Intense in what way?" George asks.

Primož gets up from the couch, his eyes stare in nothingness.

"In a beautiful way."

He walks away and then suddenly turns back to George.

"George, please don't tell anyone about this."

"You know I won't." and he means it.

"And thank you. For talking to me."

\---

Wout stands infront of the door. He's nervous but determined to get through this. He stayed up all night, thinking about it and he's decided. He's not gonna leave to Italy before he talks to him. He knocks.

"Come in." Primož's voice shouts from inside.

Wout opens the door and enters. He sees a large suitcase and a bunch of smaller travelling bags scattered around the floor, Primož standing by his bed, piling up his clothes. There's a piano music playing on his phone and it takes Wout by surprise so for a moment he just stares and waits. Primož flinches when he sees him.

"Umm, do you have a second? Or, are you too busy?"

"I'm not, I'm not…" Primož hurries to his phone that's laying on the desk, trying to turn off the music.

"No, wait, this melody… I know this song." Wout tries to remember where from.

"Yeah, it's Chopin... I think everybody's heard it at some point..."

"I didn't know that you like listening to opera…"

"It's not really opera… I mean." Primož fussing with his words. "I don't really listen to classical music that much. It's just this song that I like. It's… actually one of my favorites."

 _Is he blushing?_ Wout wonders as they lock their eyes together for a fleeting moment.

"Can I listen to it from the beginning?" Wout sits on Robert's bed.

"OK."

Primož plays the song.

"What's it called?"

"Umm, it's Etude number 3, opus 10? I don't know what this all means. But it's called Tristesse."

Wout listens and his whole body gets instantly covered in chills. He can't remember when was the last time music did this to him.

"This is not in slovene, is it?" He's trying to decipher some foreign slavic words.

"Old polish."

"Huh, I wonder what is she singing about." Wout says as the song ends.

Primož takes a deep breath, "It sounds better in polish and even slovene but it's roughy something like

the garden of roses bloomed,

there are no golden auroras

my soul is in unspeakable pain

and I remember in Spring is was so joyful

hummed the nightingale into the enchanting night.

the wind blew from the fields

it tore off a dead leaf

his heart stopped beating because he felt sorry for Spring

everything is lost somewhere

everything is gone

the days rush into the distance

you will not come back from the moments gone by

I regret Spring."

Wout swallows hard, he doesn't know what to say or what to do. He's shook to the bone. _Those words sounded so sad. But the melody did not. It was thrilling. This was the most romantic song I've ever heard in my life._

"I forgot a bunch of lines inbetween and it doesn't rhyme that nice in english but…"

"You just know these words by heart?"

"Just my favorite verses… I wanted to know what they mean." Primož looks through the window nervously.

They stay in silence for a while. Wout remembers what he came here for. He glances at the man across the room. _He's fine. He's moved on. Like he always does. It's like nothing even happened._

"I wanted to talk to you. Before we leave." Wout starts slowly. "About… you know."

Primož looks at him for a second, his gaze back to the window pane. He nods.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened. I… I shouldn't have done it."

Wout studies his face, trying to read the emotions of the features he's grown so fond of. And he's not sure if he's reading them right but… _Is this disappointment? Sadness?_ Primož turns away from the window now, leans on the desk, crosses his arms at his chest. Deep sigh, looking at the floor.

Wout stands up, walks across the room, stops by the desk and leans on it as well.

"I don't want you to be angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you, Wout."

An inner sigh of relief, "You're not?"

"No, and I'm sorry I reacted the way I did, I mean, so… abruptly."

Silence, as no one knows what to say next.

"So, are we friends again?" Wout looks at him from the side.

"We never stopped being friends."

His heart awakens. Gets warm again. Still broken though. _You're too good for this world. You're too good for me. And I'll never have you anyway. Not in a way I want to have you. Only for myself. Complete and_ _committed. Surrendered to me._

"Oh, shit, what's the time?" Wout glances at Primož's phone.

"We're leaving in the evening." Primož looks at him now.

"Some of us are leaving earlier, the plane for Italy takes off in about three hours." He wants to hug him. He wants to hug him goodbye so bad but doesn't dare to, he's afraid to now.

"I guess we'll see each other in a few months." 

Wout walks to the door, opens it and looks back.

Primož is smiling at him, his eyes enchanting and bright, "Good luck, Wout! See you at the Dauphiné."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The version of Tristesse they listen to is by Manca Izmajlova with Russian State Symphony Cinema Orchestra.


	8. Pulling you out with fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from a song A Kiss To Your Twin by Anna Calvi

Wout's been counting down the days. Grueling weeks of races, some periods of rest inbetween and making sure to spend as much time as possible with family and friends during his hectic schedule. He's now full of new experiences, new excitements and motivation and there's been some races that he had won and some he'd learned from. This is a life of a professional cyclist and Wout has been made for it. He's dedicated his life to it and he wouldn't want it to be any other way.

But there was one thing he's been missing and as the days were passing by, this hole inside him was only getting deeper and deeper, impossible to fill with any win or any other person he's met since. His thoughts were with Primož every day. He's only been able to see him on TV, riding his bike and giving interviews. They would text each other before every race, wishing each other luck and congratulate each other after, when doing well or not so well. And it was not enough for Wout. He wanted to be near him, he wanted to hear his voice, see his face. Watching Primož through the screen only made his yearning for him stronger. The closer it got to may 29th, the more restless and anxious he was becoming. He wasn't completely sure, what would happen when they would see each other again, but he didn't even want to think about that now. He's had more than a month off from racing, then doing an altitude camp with a small group of his teammates and all this time he's been itching to come back, he's been ready to take on the Critérium du Dauphiné. And now he's ready to finally see him again.

\---

It's late in the evening and Wout is standing in the middle of a huge lobby in a fancy french hotel. His teammates and staff are mingling around him, greeting each other, hugging and patting each other on their backs. They've had a great season of racing so far and everyone's excited for another tough competition. People have been trickling in one by one and Wout's been feeling uneasy. _Where the hell is he?_ Finally he sees his slender figure, dressed in black and yellow team clothes, coming towards them. Primož greets the staff members, the sporting directors and the coaches and now he's with his teammates, hugging each and every one of them, smiling and chatting, his face bright and fresh.

"Hey, our winning machine is back!" Sepp says as they embrace as well.

And now he's standing there, before him, Wout is the only one he hasn't hugged yet. They stare at each other for a moment and Wout's been unable to form a thought since he saw him enter the hallway. _How is it possible he has gotten even more handsome in these past few months?!_ is all he can think of. _  
_

Primož smiles and Wout feels his legs melt under him as Primož throws one arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a hug and then clinches the other tightly around his lower back. Wout is surprised by the strenght of this gesture and finally it hits just how much he's missed him, a swirl of emotions floods his body. He gently puts his hands on him, one around his waist, the other just beneath the back of his head, trying to feel the texture of his hair. _My precious thing. You're finally here._ Wout feels the other man's breath where his neck meets the shoulder and it sends sudden shivers down his spine. He exhales in relief, feeling the warmth forming between their bodies and… Primož pulls away, his hand now briefly slides down Wout's shoulder as they move apart.

"How have you been? Can't stop winning, huh?" Primož looks at him and apparently he's in a very good mood.

"Not as much as you." Wout is trying to sound as neutral as possible but he cannot fully hide the admiration in his voice, the excitement in his eyes as he sees the man he's been waiting to see for months, finally standing next to him.

Primož shakes his head, trying to say something but he gets interrupted by their sporting director. "It's getting late, guys. Get some good sleep tonight." Merijn says and looks at them with slight worry in his eyes. "I have a feeling this is gonna be a rought eight days for us, especially because it's extremly important that you really take care of each other, OK? I don't want any scenarios from last year." Wout and Primož both nod at the same time. He turns to leave and then remembers something, "Oh, right, here are your keys, I believe you two haven't roomed together, yet. Goodnight, see you tomorrow."

\---

They've been silent since they got into their room. And Wout has been nervous, to put it mildly. He didn't expect to be staying in the same room with Primož, he didn't even think about the possibility of it happening even though the chances of them being roommates at some point or the other were high. Still it caught him by surprise and it seemed Primož wasn't prepared for it either.

Wout is now sitting on his bed, flipping through his phone while gazing at Primož who hasn't looked at him since they've gotten their key cards. He's been, however, keeping himself occupied with unpacking his luggage, checking the night's view from their window, going in and out of the bathroom, checking his phone... Wout is thinking desperatly what to say to break the silence that's been growing more and more prominent between them and his mind is completely blank.

"I'm gonna take a shower." Primož declares, grabbing his toiletries and a pair of underwear, disappearing in the bathroom, again, not being able to look at him.

 _He must be so uncomfortable with all this_. _Should I say something about it? Fuck, it's gonna be so awkward. I don't want it to be awkward. And it's probably really awkward for him, having to sleep in the same room with a guy who kissed him just three months ago._ Wout feels a pinch of shame in his stomach. _It wouldn't be like this if you weren't this fucking selfish._

Primož comes back, a whiff of some sort of lavender and lemongrass mixture following him from the bathroom, his hair still damp, wearing only his boxers, he throws the toiletry bag back into his suitcase.

Wout knows how this man's body looks, yet it still takes his breath away when he sees him like this, standing in the middle of the room, his dark hair now even more black from being wet, some droplets of water still lingering on his back and his chest. _He could have been a model_ , he drinks the sights of his muscular legs, his gentle arms, his sculpted face that is now looking uncertain and melancholy. Primož finally looks at him so he averts his eyes at the last second, the heat forming in his cheeks. He sees him sit on his bed with a corner of his eye, then leaning on the wall. Wout dares to look at him.

"Is this weird for you?" he asks him, barely audible.

"What?" Primož looks at him curiously.

"Staying in the same room with me?"

"Why would it be weird?"

"You know why."

A deep pause.

Wout feels how Primož is thinking about it, looking at the covers of his bed, than the floor, than through the window, than floor again.

"I can switch with someone else. If it would make it easier for you?"

"Do you wanna switch?" Primož looks at him now, his eyes glistening slightly, "I mean, is it weird for you?"

Wout sighs and decides he can't sit here anymore, facing him across the room so directly, so he stands up and starts looking through some things in his suitcase that's still laying open on his bed.

"No. But it's no problem if you want me to." He can't look at his face, "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

Another pause.

"You don't make me feel uncomfortable." Primož replies with a firm voice.

And Wout has to believe him. He gathers his stuff and heads to the bathroom. When he gets back all refreshed and somewhat relieved, Primož is already in his bed, one arm resting under his head, the other on his bare chest. Now he's looking at Wout, standing in the middle of the room, wearing only his underwear and Wout wonders if he should feel shy about it. And he doesn't. The tense atmosphere in the room has been lifted and it all feels suddenly normal again. Wout puts his suitcase on the floor and slides under the covers, switches off the lights.

They lie in silence for a few moments and then the voice comes from Primož's side.

"Wout?"

"Yeah?"

A minute passes.

"I've missed you, you know…"

Wout's heart flutters at the sound of those words. He turns his head, trying to make up the figure, lying in the other bed, but it's too dark to see anything. "I've missed you, too."

He hears him sigh.

"You know, I like being around you. I don't want you to ever think that I don't."

The warmth is here again, pouring over his whole body like a gentle, soft liquid. Making him safe.

"Why do you like being around me?" He decides to ask.

Another minute passes.

"There's too many reasons."

Wout can't help but to smile. He puts his palm on his forehead, feeling happiness seeping inside him.

"But I like the way you're always sincere. You always say what you truly think. You're honest with everybody. And you're honest with me. I can trust you."

Wout is thinking deeply now, "That's not completely true," a small cough to clear his throat, "I lied to you that day, the last day of training camp."

Primož's voice apparently confused, "What do you mean?"

"I said I was sorry for kissing you." Wout lets out a calm breath, "I wasn't sorry. And I would do it all over again."

Silence and then they fall asleep.


	9. In every breath I take I’m breathing you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Euphoria by Loreen.

Today they start racing. If you want to win, you can't afford to make too many mistake, if any at all. When Wout wakes up in the morning, he senses the focus has shifted. Whatever was built up in their relationship the night before, took the side road now. Primož has his game face on and it looks like the race is the only thing he thinks and cares about. And Wout respects it. He's used to being the same way. He's also aware the whole team will have to be extremely concentrated and tactical all the time. This is their test now.

The first few stages are flat and hilly and nothing of importance happens there. The first decisive one is going be in the mountains and the sporting directors carefully prepare their plans. On stages like these rarely anything goes like people predict it would go, but Primož feels jumpy and fresh so he attacks three kilometers before the mountain top finish, leaving his competitors chasing behind. He gains twenty seconds on them and by the end of the day he's in the yellow leader's jersey. There almost hasn't been a stage race in the past few seasons for him where he wasn't leading the general classification. And Wout could not be more proud.

\---

Bad luck doesn't rest though. The next day they're climbing again. They're on the penultimate climb and the pace is frantic. People are trying to attack left and right but luckily Primož still has most of the domestiques with him and they kill off any threats to their jersey. Wout's been his body guard through this whole time. He's not expected to climb with the best, but he has to drive infront or behind Primož as much as possible, keeping him in the best position, making sure everything's fine and that he has what he needs. They've grown so used to each other by now that they don't even need to communicate that much anymore. Most of the time Wout knows what Primož needs and what is he about to do just by reading his facial expressions, looking at his body language and his hand gestures.

But today's been a nerve wracking race. Every rider that wants to win knows they have to do something concrete to bring back some time. And there's a time trial the next day. None of them will gain time on Roglič with the time trial. They're pacing up the mountain fast but it's still a long way to go and there's more and more spectators lining up the side of the road, screaming and cheering, waving their hands and flags and bells and whatever they can think of to bring along with them. The road is getting more narrow but the crowds are enourmous and way too close to the riders. The motorbikes are beeping like crazy, the cars are everywhere and the people are getting more and more loud and obnoxious. Wout is concentrating on Primož's back as he's trying to keep up with the first group. He's not having an easy time and the constantly moving crowds are throwing him out of his rhythm. He doesn't like that there's so many people and not that many security guys to make any sort of order, but that's usually how it is in high mountains. You just can't keep it all under control.

And then it happens. To Wout it almost looks in slow motion but it occurs in an instant. He sees a heavy guy, ravished with the energy of the wild, cheering crowd, flying suddenly onto the street, as if being pushed, hitting Primož's bike, making him lose his balance completely and fall on the ground. Primož manages to catch himself at the last moment and land on his forearm but the impact is hard. The crowd yells and shouts, Wout's breath escapes his lungs. _Oh no, no, no, no…_ He jumps off his bike, holds it with one hand and waves to Sepp who's looking back in shock and concern to keep going and stay with the group who now pushes the pace. The riders behind are trying to pass by and Wout is furious. So furious he feels the rage filling his head, making it pound with aggression and dread. _This stupid fucking crowd!_ He pushes away the man who knocked Primož down and yells at him something, pushes him hard again as the man stumbles around, he smells him reeking of alcohol. _Get out of my way, you jerks!_ Someone picks up and holds Primož's bike, people are crowding around him, trying to help him up but Wout shoves them all aside. He's finally able to look at him, "Are you alright, are you hurt??" Primož looks at him distraught but he seems fine, there's an abrasion on his left forearm, tiny beads of blood coming out at some parts. He extends his other arm and Wout pulls him up on his feet. "C'mon, let's go. We have to go now."

They catch the leading group just before the summit.

\---

Wout is ready for bed but he's waiting for him in their room and the time is ticking by. _He should be done with his massage by now… What if there's something wrong and he's got an injury of some sort after all. One that got unnoticed before. Fucking hell... How could this happen?_ Wout's getting restless now. After some more time the door opens and he enters.

"How are you, is everything alright?" a slight panic in his voice that he doesn't bother to hide.

"Oh… yeah, I'm fine, everything is fine. I mean, other than this." Primož lifts his forearm, bandaged with a white cover. "But this is nothing."

"OK, good." Wout walks across the room, stops by the window and leans on the sill. "You were gone for so long I thought it was something more."

"No, I guess I dodged the bullet this time." Primož decides to laugh as he sees his teammate still looking quite concerned. "Can you imagine history repeating itself?" He throws his clothes on the chair and checks his phone quickly. "My phone's been blowing up. People actually think I'm gonna text them back during the race…" he tries to keep the mood light but he notices something's been bothering Wout. Eyebrow raised in silent question, he walks towards him. He stops by the window and looks outside into the darkness, down to an empty small park that's only being lit by a few old street lamps. Everything seems so serene now, away from all the race madness. They stay in silence for a while, each staring into their own direction.

Primož sends him a small hint of a smile, "You saved my ass again, towing me along on that freaking mountain, catching back the GC guys. I could have lost the jersey if it weren't for you."

"You'd catch them on your own as well. If not before the summit, on the downhill then. You're a better descender than all of them combined." Wout doesn't want to look at him. The hole in his chest is growing again and he's feeling nauseous. He's not sure how much longer he could endure this, being so close to him and not…

"No, you helped me so much." Primož objects, his eyes wide open, "And the way you just almost beat the shit out of those guys… That was… kinda rough…"

"It was their fault you crashed! Fucking assholes! It wasn't even your mistake or a mechanical or just a fucking bad luck, it was those drunken idiots on the side of the road! You could have broke the collar-bone or… injured your knee... Your season could be over right now." Wout is just barely keeping his agitation under control.

"Well, in that case I guess you'd have to go and win the Tour de France instead of me." Primož is looking at him with the sweetest smile he has in his repertoire and Wout just can't resist him anymore. He has to smile back. _You crazy man. You're driving me insane and you don't even know it._

"That's very funny."

"Oh, no, I'm totally serious."

Wout looks at him with deep appreciation and now the relief finally allows him to relax and breathe easily. _Thank god he's ok._

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you this angry before. Not even after a bad loss or…" Primož says carefully.

"I was mad. I couldn't believe that someone would actually hit you like that and then have the nerve to touch you and try to help you get up."

"You know the guy didn't mean to do it, it was an accident. And those people were just trying to help.«

"I could kill that guy." Wout's eyes now stare blankly into the furthest wall. "I'd kill him if there were no cameras, no other people around."

"Wout, you can't joke about things like that."

And Wout looks straight into his eyes. _But I'm not even joking._

The tension is rising rapidly between them and they both sense it.

Primož turns and leans on the window sill as well so they're so close now Wout can hear his breathing, can feel his heart starting to beat faster. He can't hide he's getting nervous but he stays there, looking ahead. Wout peers at him from the side and he feels nervous too. He hesitates for a moment and then stands up and turns so that he faces him directly, their bodies almost touching now. Primož is holding his hands on the sill and Wout looks at his bandage, starts to gently brush the soft fabric with his fingers, "Does it hurt?" he inquires.

"You worry too much about me, Wout." his voice almost trembling.

"I care about you." Wout can't stop himself anymore, can't control himself and he doesn't want to. So he moves closer and presses himself lightly to his body, their hips now touching together. Breathing becomes faster, their gazes wandering all over each other. Wout leans forward and puts his forehead on the side of Primož's head, the nose on his cheek, their eyes get so close they both shut them now. He slides his hands on the window sill, next to Primož's hands, encasing his waist that way. Wout's heart is pounding like crazy, he feels the chills traveling through every part of his body, he exhales heavily as he gently rubs his forehead against Primož's hair, then his front as well. He expects Primož to move away any second now but it doesn't happen. He's listening to his breath getting more shallow but the man seems calm, he doesn't mind the closeness, the touching, this unusual intimacy between them. _Does he actually like it, us being like this?_ Wout's head is swirling with questions but they evaporate almost as soon as they appear. He cannot think straight and his emotions are running all over the place. _What are we doing? This is so nice...  
_

His head now rests on Primož's forehead and they've been like this for moments undefined, their heartbeats slowing down, breathing getting steady. Their faces still so close and the heat between them getting intense, Wout decides to cross his hands behind Primož's waist. He hears him inhale nervously.

He moves his head back and looks at him, "Can I do this?" 

Primož nods and Wout pulls him closer, brushes his nose against his hair. He feels a pair of hands, timidly touch his arms and then stay there. He almost feels like he's in heaven. _I'm so in love with him._ _And he's here with me, so close to me._ He gives a deep exhale and lands a small, gentle kiss on Primož's forehead. He tenses slightly.

"Wout?" a quiet voice.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like me?"

 _I guess it's not obvious enough._ He kisses his forehead again, this time for a little longer. "Yes." He plants another one, "Very much."

Primož now looks at his face, unable to hide the shyness, his hands still holding Wout's arms. "Um, time trial's tomorrow…"

Wout can't help but to burst into a quiet laugh, "That's what you've been thinking about this whole time, a time trial?!" _Man, he's crazy. I could fucking throw him on my bed right now and just…_

"No, ofcourse not. I've been thinking about lots of things, I…"

Wout realizes this has been a lot for Primož. He feels the sympathy towards him and knows he can't push it any further. Besides, they're in the middle of a tough race, the last they need is more distraction. Primož doesn't need it. He's a race leader and there's four more stages left to defend his jersey.

"We should go get some sleep, huh?"

Primož nods, visibly relieved.

It's hard for Wout to let him go.

"But, can you just… hold me a little more… for another minute?" Primož asks him.

And Wout embraces him tightly, closing his eyes, savoring every second of that minute.


	10. He was the moon, painting you with its glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song The Funeral Of Hearts by HIM.

Primož is trying really hard to be quiet while putting his clothes on. He looks at Wout's bed and sees a slow movement, a subtle noice coming from beneath the covers _. I woke him up, great._

It's still very early in the morning and july sun rays are already penetrating the hotel room. Wout's head now peeks out of his covers, eyes sleepily blinking at Primož.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." he looks at him apologetically.

"It's alright. Are you going for a run?" he rubbs his eyes, letting out a small yawn.

"Yeah, just a quick one."

Wout props himself on his left elbow and taps the space on the mattress with his right hand. Primož walks towards his bed and sits next to him. He smiles and Wout smiles back. _How is it that he can make me so very nervous and completely calm at the same time?_ Primož thinks to himself.

He's had a confused couple of months. And confused is not the right word. What can you even think when a teammate of yours, who you consider one of your friends, suddenly kisses you and makes you know he's developed feelings for you. What do you do, when this friends of yours is a man, like you. A talented and successful athlete, a fucking high level celebrity in Belgium and already an established name in pro cycling. Primož gazes at Wout's still sleepy face, _he's really handsome._ He always thought he was handsome, never in _that_ way though. But he's been forced to think about him that way, because he could not ignore how this man was making him feel. Even before their kiss in the woods he felt something was changing between them, but he could not really explain what and how. He didn't think much about it then and now he's been thinking about it every day since. He could not ignore it anymore, this rush of tingling motions forming in his stomach, these tiny vibrations waking up in all the fibers of his being, getting more and more real with each day he spent around him. And no one has ever made him feel the way Wout was making him feel, so seen and heard, covered with care and tenderness, so appreciated, so protected. And he wanted Wout to feel like that, too.

"Did you sleep well?" Wout asks lazily. His deep voice has been giving him chills lately, especially when they were alone, this close together as they were now.

"Uh, could be better…" Primož studies his face, his strong bone structure, his dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, so deep and so enchanting at times, he feels his gaze burning right through him.

"How's your arm?" He looks at his bandage.

"It feels a bit swollen… but it's gonna be fine. Riding a tt will be fun today." Primož says as if he's not really bothered but it does leave him with some concerning thoughts in the back of his mind. He doesn't remember when was the last time he rode a time trial without something on him being bruised or injured.

Wout takes Primož's forearm in his hand and starts kissing it slowly, beginning at the top of the bandage, all the way down, he makes sure to kiss every inch of the wrap, taking his time. And Primož can only look at him, look at his messy hair, his almost closed eyes and his mouth, planting kisses all over his covered bruises. _How are his lips so perfect, so full and so sensuous?_ He doesn't feel them through his bandage but he cannot help but to imagine them on his skin. And on his lips again. He wants them on his lips again.

Wout looks up at him and Primož can't hide he's been touched by this gesture.

"What are you thinking about?" Wout asks with somewhat flirtatious smile, "Time trial still?" he kisses his wrist now, his palm, the back of his palm and then lets it go, he lays his head back on the pillow.

"No." Primož swallows hard, his heart now skipping a beat. "I'm thinking about how messy your hair looks in the morning." He pushes his hair back gently, then runs his fingers through Wout's thick dark locks.

"Who's talking..." Wout grins at him, clearly enjoying the unexpected caress.

_He's gonna have to stop smiling at me like that. This smile of his…_

"I'm late for my run." Primož says. "See you at breakfast, ah?"

Wout just nods and looks at him yearningly.

Primož is about to turn and leave but he changes his mind. He leans down and kisses Wout's forehead, kisses his temple and his cheekbone. He feels the man underneath him breathe out intensely, gently grabbing his shoulder. He stills for a second, lands his lips on his cheek then moves away. He tries to stand up quickly but Wout catches his hand on the way up, the look in his eyes serious now.

"I'll see you soon." Primož assures.

He lets him go.

\---

He is surprised he manages to warm up without thinking about him all the time. His head is in an emotional whirlwind and he can't wait to get this day over with. His bruised arm is bothering him, since he'll have to lean on the hurt place most of the time while riding, but pain is something he's used to anyway. He's more worried about his mind being constantly occupied by a one certain person. And it doesn't help that he sees him on the screen doing his time trail, while he's getting prepared.

Wout is in a tremendous shape and in a scary time trial form, he takes the lead with a huge margin, barely breathing heavy at the finish. _Well, I'm not beating that time today_ , Primož smiles at himself and gets to the ramp.

He does however manage to get the best time out of the GC guys and he crosses the line with a sigh of relief. He could do much better but he knows he has to save some energy for the last three stages, one being another tough mountain top finish. He sees Wout's face on tv when they interview him as a winner of the stage and he is beaming. _I'm so happy to see him like this! Seeing him happy makes me feel happy._

They hug each other backstage, trying to appear professional and act as if they're only being teammates. But the way Wout is looking at him while they sit on their chairs right next to each other, waiting to get called to go to the podium, makes Primož shudder with anticipation, with sweet and subtle arousal he can't discard anymore, no matter how hard he still tries.

\---

At dinner the whole team is celebrating yet another win and another day in the yellow jersey. But they know it's not over until it's over, having learned the lesson the hard way. The mood is relaxed though and Primož is happy. Happy with his day, with their day.

He doesn't feel this nervous and tense anymore and in the past few days a heavy burden fell from his shoulders. He wasn't sure what the burden was but he knew deep inside that every important thing needs its time to take shape in someone's life and when there's one that comes and turns your whole world upside down, it's ok to give yourself some space and come to terms with everything. He thinks back to yesterday to his time with Wout when they would just lean against each other, just be with each other, just share their moment in small intimacy, and it makes him feel calm. Primož is not the kind of guy for one night stands. Either he's all in or he's not at all. And if he's gonna do something, he's gonna do it the right way. The moment he fell on that mountain yesterday he knew it for sure. He fell hard and it shook his world. He knew he fell in love with him.

\---

This time around it's Primož who's waiting for Wout in their room to come from his massage. He's thinking of what he's going to say to him. After all, they should talk about what happened in the past few days. They're gonna have to address it at some point. He's thinking about the right words to use to express how he feels and they just don't come, no matter how hard he tries. Every sentence he formulates in his mind sounds so cheezy.

It's getting really late now and the overhead light in the room is shining too bright, he feels. He switches it off and turns on both nightstand lamps instead. He decides to flip through some social media posts and he finds one from today's stage that catches his eye. Someone took a photo of him and Wout, sitting next to each other backstage. They're looking at each other, smiling. He doesn't normally read comments but this time Primož is curious. There's a bunch of them in english, some in dutch, spanish, italian and french, a few fire emojis, even more hearts emojis and then there's one and it makes his cheeks warm, »they look at each other like they're in love«.

Wout opens the door with a loud sound and it makes Primož jump. He closes his Instagram page, turns off his phone. He fumbles with some random items on the desk and he can feel Wout's eyes on him. He turns and looks at him, standing in the middle of the scarcely lit room, waiting. Wout's breathing is heavy and his eyes are impatient, "Come here."

Primož is taken by surprise by his commanding tone but he instantly feels his heart starting to pound, his hands starting to shake, the tension spreading in his chest in desirous fever. He takes his steps carefully and as soon as he's in his reach, Wout grabs his arms and pulls him into a strong embrace, locking his arms around him as if afraid Primož is going to run away. Wout looks at him with desperation, the hand reaches for his face as he kisses his lips with urgency and uncontrollable passion. They lean into each other as close as they can, their breathing now loud and shallow, arms wrapped tightly around their bodies. They drink the kiss like they would drink water after almost dying from thirst, so unsatiating. Primož's mind goes off, everything goes off as he's tasting those perfect lips again, now starting to move with his, gently but firmly, demanding what's theirs. _I've wanted this. I've always wanted this_. _And I got it now, with him._ His brain is in complete shambles, his heart hurts from beating so hard, his limbs tremble and his ribs hurts as Wout's hands are now holding him so strongly he's shocked by his strenght. It's the strenght and it's the tenderness that he showers him with. It's the simple feel of his hands on him, his mouth against his mouth, that it's making his head spin. They kiss and they kiss with such force for so long their lips start to ache and swell. And none of them care. They're so short of breath it's making them dizzy and the world around them is starting to blur. They finally break away for a few seconds, their heads drawn together, resting on each other like they were yesterday, their breaths pacing as one. Primož's whole body is vibrating and he feels their energies entwine, sinking into one another.

Wout takes another long kiss and looks at him after, visibly touched by what it transpired, "Are you gonna be mine now?"

Primož is shaken by the question, his hand on Wout's face now, caressing his cheek and his jawline. He doesn't know what to say, how to express the purity of emotions he feels for this man. He presses his lips on him with all the passion and might he has left in him from a hard day that just passed, "I'll be yours. If you'll be mine."

Wout smiles at him for the first time since he came into the room. He gives him a small kiss back and says, "I wanna do this some more, but unfortunatly we're still humans who need to sleep."

Primož laughs and buries his head in Wout's neck for a second, then looks at him, "Let's go to sleep."

They each quickly take their clothes off as it suddenly hits them just how exhausted they both are. Primož wants to collapse in his bed and Wout objects, pretending to be angry, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?? You sleep in my bed now, with me!"

They lie next to each other, Wout wrapping his arm around Primož's waist, head resting on his chest, Primož gently stroking his hair until they both fall asleep.

With hearts full again.


	11. Dripping with alchemy, you're all chrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Heads Will Roll by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Wout wakes up to the sound of a morning alarm going off. His head is buried in Primož's shoulder, one of his hands spread across his chest. He looks up and gazes at the man lying next to him, not sure at first how he got there. But soon he remembers. The event of last night flashes infront of his eyes.

 _I've kissed him. And then we were kissing. For a long time. And now he's lying here, in my bed. With me._ Wout looks at his serene expression, his body relaxed in sleep, his eyebrow twitches. _Oh, fuck, the alarm._ He looks at his phone. _No._ It's coming from the desk. He drags himself out of the bed and goes to turn Primož's alarm off. He throws a quick look outside the window. The weather's gray. And cloudy and rainy and miserable. Primož is waking up now, slowly starting to move and stretch his limbs, eyes still closed. Wout returns to his bed, presses himself close to the side of Primož's body, enjoying the warmth of it. He brushes his lips lightly against his lips, they part a little and Wout tries to catch some of his breathing. It stirs him with excitement and he kisses him gently, then with pure elation as he feels Primož respond to it, kissing him back. He finally opens his eyes, looks at him rather shlyly.

"Good morning." Wout smiles at him.

"Morning." Primož puts one hand on his shoulder as Wout leans across his chest, closer to him.

A longer kiss. _I get to do that now. I can kiss him like this. And he kisses me back._

Primož rubs his eye, "I have to get ready. For my run."

"It's raining outside."

"Oh… shit."

"I guess you'll have to stay in bed for another hour and a half…"

"I guess…"

Wout's tracing Primož's cheekbone with his fingers, "So, what should we do then?"

Primož is pretending like he's thinking hard about it, "Ummm, sleep?"

"Sleep??" _he sure does have a sense of humour.  
_

Primož nods with a sly smile on his face, closing his eyes.

Wout shakes his head, "Fine, I'll just stay here then, kissing you. While you sleep."

And he absolutely means it. He props himself on his elbow, slides one leg over Primož's legs and leans on his abdomen. He feels the slenderness and masculinity of his body and lying like this on him sends sudden shivers down his spine, makes his stomach flutter in anticipation. Primož takes a sharp breath as he senses Wout's lips on his face, gently planting small kisses all over his cheeks, his cheekbones and his jawline. Wout slides one hand under his shoulder blade, the other one resting on the pillow, above his head. He continues to kiss his stubble, his chin, his eyelids, his temples, everything but his mouth, making the kisses longer and harder and more yearning, more desperate. And he makes Primož desperate, his breathing getting shallow, he clutches his hands around Wout's back.

"Your lips are so soft."

"Shhh, go back to sleep." Wout murmurs, moves down a bit and starts kissing his neck, mouth open now.

Primož opens his eyes, his hands travelling all over Wout's back. He grabs him under the shoulders and pulls him up, searching for his lips. They lock them together, kissing hard, slipping tongues in each other's mouths, holding each other tightly. 

"You taste so good, Primož, so fucking good, I just can't…" They're gasping for air.

Primož runs his fingers through Wout's hair, he hugs him tighter around his waist, the kissing gets more fierce. They both feel the heat forming between them, the tension consuming their bodies, the hardness creeping in, their hearts are aching for more. It goes on and on, minutes pass, an hour passes and they can barely satisfy the desire, the need for closeness.

Wout's alarm clock goes off and it sets them back to reality.

They separate for a moment as Wout reaches for his phone. Primož makes a loud exhaling sound. He's landing back to earth, his body slowly letting go of the tension. Wout leans back to him, his eyes studying Primož's face.

"What?" a soft smile.

"Nothing." a pondering look.

"Tell me." Primož looks at him with encouragement.

Wout exhales deeply. "This almost feels too good to be true."

"What do you mean?"

Wout thinks for a few moments, "After that day in the woods I pretty much accepted that you didn't feel the way I felt towards you. I accepted you'd never want to be with me. And, now, in the past few days everything has changed, everything is suddenly different. You're here, in my arms… I just… I'm afraid it'll just… How long will this last?" he's staring at the pillow, afraid to look at him now.

"Wout," Primož reaches for his face, makes Wout look at him, "I'm in love with you."

A surprised look, moved by the sudden declaration.

"I'm in love with you. I would never do this, if I wasn't absolutely sure about it."

Wout takes him into a deep kiss and then kisses him again, and again.

\---

"Today's a typical stage for the puncheurs." Grischa's voice explaining over his graphics at team's bus meeting. "Our main focus is to look after Primož, so that nothing crazy happens. Go with the GC men, go with any dangerous attack. Wout, this is your opportunity also, if you wanna take it, if the situation is right, you should go for it, ok?"

Wout nods and looks at Primož who gives him a small wink. He would give everything to be able to hug him right now, to touch him, to smell his skin, run his hands through his hair. He suddenly feels lightheaded, like something is not right, like something weird is gonna happen, but he brushes it all aside as they all get on their rollers and start warming up.

It's still raining when they start and it's getting windy and cold as well. Wout's head starts pounding midway through the stage and he knows right away he's not gonna be racing for the win today. He feels dizzy and his concentracion is at the minimum, just enough to stay riding with his teammates and not let himself fall off his bike. Primož glances at him a few times, eyebrows raised, Wout shakes his head. _Let's just get to the finish._ _Let me get to the finish.  
_

When they cross the line, they immediately stop together by the fence. Wout leans on it, takes off his helmet, his breathing's uneven and shaky.

"Wout, what's wrong? Tell me, what's wrong?" Primož is looking at him concerned, but Wout's vision is getting blurry, his head is throbbing hard, he cannot answer him. Primož's voice now slightly raised, fearful almost, "Are you sick?" Wout feels his hand, cold as ice, touching his forehead, _oh, it feels so nice, so nicely cold…_ He closes his eyes, they hurt as well.

"Your head is burning, you have a fever!"

"Primož, you have to go with me now… We have to go this way." Wout hears their PR guy somewhere in the distance. All the voices and noise spinning around him. He feels a strong grip on his forearm.

"No, Wout's not feeling well, I'm staying here with him…"

"But, you have to go…"

"Just wait a few minutes!…" Wout senses anger in Primož's voice, _but, he never gets angry, ever._

"We'll take care of him, don't worry…"

\---

Wout's lying in his bed, his consciousness floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. There's a storm outside and loud thunder and lightning keep rousing him all the time so he just decides to stay awake with his eyes shut. The door of his room opens and he hears footsteps approaching, a small thump as someone just threw something on the floor, a lamp on the nightstand switching on. He open his eyes.

Primož sits on the side of the bed, his face looking worried in a dim light, he gazes at Wout.

"They say it's just a fever?" his voice is hoarse, eyes glistening in half-dark.

"Just a fever. And a headache."

He caresses his forehead, "You're so hot, how high is it?"

"39,3°C."

"Fuck…"

"I'll be fine. Might not start tomorrow. If it gets worse."

"It's not gonna get worse!"

"Primož, you don't need to worry, ok?"

"Yeah, I keep hearing that all the time."

He keeps caressing him, stroking his hair, his forehead, his cheeks.

"This feels really nice." Wout looks at him gratefully, feeling relieved by his presence.

"Just tell me what you need."

A tired sigh, "I want you closer to me."

Primož gets in the bed, embraces him around the shoulders, places his head next to his. Just as they move tighter together, someone loudly knocks on the door and they look at each other, eyes wide open, _oh, fuck!_ Primož launches himself out of Wout's bed and quickly rushes to open the door. It's Merijn, the sporting director, carrying a tray full of things, a jug full of tea, a cup, some fruit and a bunch of pills and vitamins.

"Hey, Primož… Aren't you gonna let me in?" he looks at him a bit suspiciously as Primož is blocking his way into the room. He gives him a clear path.

Merijn lays the tray off to Wout's nightstand and inspects him carefully, "How are you feeling, Wout?"

"I feel better, now that I'm resting."

"Good, good, you should just go to sleep as soon as possible. I brought some tea and aspirin and some other stuff from the doctor. Oh, and thermometer to check you temperature." He looks around to find Primož who's now sitting on his bed. "Primož, you can go stay in another room if you want…"

Primož looks at him annoyed, "Why would I want to go to another room. I can't catch a fever from him. Or a headache."

"No, but he can get more sick. It's better to be cautious with things like that."

"If he's not throwing up, I'm staying here." _Even if he is, I'm staying here._

"Yes, but you need to get some rest too, and I'm gonna have our doctor check in on Wout once or twice through the night. You'll get woken up."

"There's not need for a doctor to come here. I'll check his temperature." he sounds firm as a rock.

Merijn is shaking his head, "Primož, you're not a doctor, That's not your concern. You should get a good sleep, there's gonna be the last mountain stage tomorrow and you'll need all the energy you can get."

Primož is getting even more annoyed now and Wout is looking at him pleadingly to calm himself down, "I don't need to be a doctor to read a fucking thermometer. And I'll be fine, he's gonna be fine. We just need some peace and quiet." He exhales heavily, Merijn is staring at him, not completely sure what to say or what to think of all this. "And if he gets worse or his temperature starts rising I'll be sure to call the doctor."

Merijn now looking from one guy to the other, "Wout, do you agree with all this?"

"There's not need for a doctor to be checking up on me."

"Alright then. We'll arrange for your transportation home tomorrow morning."

"I'm not going home."

"You're not thinking about racing, are you??" Merijn's in shock now.

"If I feel well enough, I'll race." Wout declares with all the determination he can gather in his weak voice.

"Argh...« Merijn's palms buried in his face now, "You two are way too stubborn… You're gonna drive me crazy one day."

"At least you're never gonna get bored." Primož smiles at him as he feels he was a bit harsh with his sporting director before.

"You're right about that. You guys mean a lot to this team, you know?" He looks at Primož again. He suspects something's going on with him. He's not been acting like his normal Primož as of late. That's what Merijn has been sure off. "I'm gonna go now. Call if you need anything, OK?" Still concern in his voice. They both nod.

Primož locks the door behind him.

He returns to Wout's bed and decides to check his temperature, "Are you gonna take any of these?" he points to the tray on his nightstand.

"Just the tea, no pills."

"Yeah, the fever usually takes care of things that are wrong in your body. Just burns anything that's not supposed to be there." Primož delibarates. "No need to bring it down. It's now 38,8°C."

Wout is looking at him now, admiring his concentrated face, his caring eyes, the way he talks to him. "You're taking such good care of me."

"You take care of me, I take care of you. That's how it is."

Primož disappears in the bathroom and when he comes back he takes some time to pack his and Wout's things for tomorrow's stage.

"You know you're not racing tomorrow with that fever, right?" he looks at him sternly.

"We'll see…" Wout's head has been killing him and he's getting tired of everything now, "Just… come to bed already."

Primož obliges, he takes off his clothes and joins Wout under the covers, clutching him tightly as he did before they got interrupted by their GS.

"Can you imagine him seeing us together in bed like this?" Wout asks, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

Primož looks at him, caressing his warm forehead again, "Don't think about that now, just sleep, ok?" He kisses his feverish lips, Wout letting out a pained sound and Primož deepens the kiss, willing all his might and force, all his intention and his own health into Wout's body, _be better, be healthy, please._

They fall asleep in a second, embraced by each other's arms.


	12. Show up, gone, like strobe lights, but with you I feel something real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song High On Life by Martin Garrix feat. Bonn

A cracky thunderous blow to the ground wakes up Primož from his dream. The rain starts falling so hard it deafens the air in the room. It's the middle of the night and for a second Primož thinks he's lying in bed in his parents' house in Slovenia. Summer storms like these are a frequent event there. The presence of another man beside him makes him realize that is not the case. The dreams he's just woken up from, the heavy weather, the half naked body lying next to him, all suddenly make him feel like he's dreaming again, like this reality right here is not really what it's supposed to be, like he's going to wake up again, somewhere completely different, as a completely different person, on another planet. He lays his head on Wout's chest and wraps his arm around his waist. He listens to the rain how it gradually starts falling more calmly, quietly and how the storm now dissipates and the silence fills the room again. _He's not shivering anymore_ , he realizes while listening to Wout's peaceful heartbeat. He loves to lie on him like this. He loves the softness of his skin, the smell of it. It's all so new to Primož but in some way he feels he's been with him before, he knows this soul from long long time ago. He falls asleep.

The next time he wakes up it's already morning and Wout is still sleeping. Primož props himself on his elbow and decides to look at him from up close. He gazes at Wout's dark unruly hair, his few blond locks infront that have become almost his signature now, his strong expressive eyebrows, long eyelashes, straight nose, the cheekbones, more prominent now when he's on his lower racing weight, jawline so masculine and strong and then his lips, _his lips_ , Primož barely resists the impulse to touch them, to trace their perfect shape, feel their sensuous texture, to taste their fullness. _No one gets to kiss him now, only me._ The thought fills him with inexpressible joy and pride. His eyes now travel down to Wout's neck, his collarbone, his shoulders and arms, so long and lean, his beautiful hands resting on his abdomen. Primož examines the muscles on his stomach, he drinks in the details of his chest and his waist. Now his heart starts accelerating in excitement, in sheer desire to touch his body, to feel those muscles and to feel his skin against him. He swallows hard as his saliva begins to gather in his mouth, he's unable not to think about what lies beneath the covers, down his waist…

Wout slowly opens his eyes, his hands now travelling up to his face, rubbing his eyes, running through his hair. He sees Primož looking at him.

"Hi." Primož gives him a warm smile.

"Hi. How long have you been awake?"

"Uh, I don't know, half an hour, maybe?"

"You didn't wake me up…"

"I had a nice view." straight look into his eyes.

"You've been looking at me, all this time?"

"Yes." no shame in admitting it. "Let's see what's going on with your temperature…"

Wout takes a deep breath.

"How do you feel?" Primož touches his forehead. "You're not so hot anymore."

"I feel pretty normal, my head feels kind of weird, but doesn't hurt like yesterday."

A faint beep.

"37,3°C, Wout, your fever's pretty much gone."

Wout smiles in relief, "I guess it was the rest that did it…"

"Ofcourse…" Primož puts the thermometer back on the nightstand and Wout suddenly pulls him closer, captures his lips and they sink into a long, deep kiss. Wout tangles his one hand in Primož's hair and places the other one tightly around his waist, Primož leans on his chest and embraces his shoulders. They close their eyes and move their mouths slowly and patiently, breathing together, tasting each other in sweet, passionate pleasure. There's no rush now as they get encaptured in a big warm wave of alleviation and enjoyment. All they want to do is just make out and be close. And it's always the alarm clock that disturbs their loving endeavour.

Wout looks at those hazel eyes, staring at him with a newly found devotion that makes Wout's heart scream with glee, "I have to go to the bathroom, all that tea I drank…"

Primož lets him get up. He stares after him all the way to the bathroom and when the door closes behind him it hits him, _I could never not be with this man anymore._

\---

"Wout, I don't think you should be racing today," Grischa looks at him unconvinced, his eyebrows furrowed in seriousness, "The doctor said everything seems fine but…"

"I am fine, I feel fine. And I wanna help the team till the end." Wout declares, looking at everyone around the bus.

A deep sigh, "OK, then… We're gonna need every rider today anyway. It's the last mountain stage, tomorrow is for the sprinters as you may know, so, we need to seal the classification today, Primož?" Grischa looks at his leader, "You know what to do."

After the meeting's over, riders put on their cycling clothes in their little dressing room area. Wout waits so that everyone leaves the bus and then moves closer to Primož who's pulling on his cycling gloves. He hugs him from behind, wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face in Primož's hair.

"Wout…"

"Mhm?" he takes a deep breath, clutches him tighter.

"What if someone comes?..."

"And?"

"They'll see us like this…" This was the first time Wout showed such affection to him in a public setting, not infront of people but a team bus is a team bus and a rider or a staff member could walk in on them any second now. _This cannot happen_ , Primož thinks and the thought of it leaves him with mixed emotions. He does not want other people to know about them. Not yet anyway. This is their thing now. Yes, it is secret, but it's sacred. He's not gonna let anyone to talk about it, to exploit it. He turns around and meets his eyes, yearning and loving. They hear footsteps on the stairs to the bus and quickly move apart.

\---

"Yeeees, we won, we fucking won, hahaha!" Merijn screams through the crowd of rejoicing groups of sporting directors, staff members and riders. They all celebrate and congratulate each other over countless bottles of beer and champagne and huge stacks of pizza.

"Well, there's still one stage left tomorrow," Primož declares with a savvy look on his face and his teammates start hollering in disagreement. Wout looks at him with a pleased smile, a teasing sparkle gleaming in his eyes.

They go back to their room a lot later tonight since they spent the whole evening with their team celebrating. Tomorrow after the stage they will all leave to go back home for a few days. _This is our last night together_ , Primož thinks and suddenly he feels really nervous. Wout walks right behind him and when they're by their door and Primož looks for his key card, he leans on the door, looks at him shyly, "I've told Grischa I wanna room with you in Tignes."

Primož stills for a moment, eyes wide open in surprise, "You did?"

Wout exhales heavily, "Yeah…"

"What did he say?" Primož finally manages to find the key card and open the door.

"He asked me what's going on between us." Wout explains as Primož looks at him with a slight shock on his face, "I told him, nothing. That we just wanna hang out some more, you know, like buds…" Wout gives out a shaky breath, "I don't think he believed me, though…"

Primož enters the room, not completely sure about what to say, he turns on the light.

Wout follows him, closes the door behind them, "I don't care what he thinks. I don't care about any of that. I just know I want to be with you." He looks at him, desire bubbling in his eyes, breathing getting shallow, "What do you want?"

"I want to be with you." Primož says, shivers covering his body as they lock their eyes.

"Good." Wout grabs him by the waist and pushed him onto the door, leans hard on him, his eyes hungry with craving now. Primož feels how his legs are turning into butter as Wout's breath wanders around his mouth, his gaze burns right through him, his hands hold him firmly against his body.

"Why are you so hot, huh?" Wout whispers against his ear and hearing his deep voice so close to him makes Primož's heart pound like crazy. He slides his hands up Wout's arms, tucks them around his shoulders. "You are so hot… especially in that yellow jersey." Primož's breath gets stuck in his lungs as he's taken by complete surprise by Wout's sudden intensity and his words, "You're _my_ winner." he whispers against his mouth and Primož can't take it anymore. He dives to his lips, kissing him forcefully as Wout responds and leans on him even harder now, hands grabbing his waist, his back, his shoulder blades. Their breathing gets loud as they can't control the passion anymore, they kiss each other on the mouths, the cheeks, the jaws. Their faces are all over the place, their hands holding for dear life as they constantly move and flow with their feverous breathing.

The need is too much, the heat between them is too much as their lips burn in constant friction, it runs through them like a blade. Primož knows the attraction he feels towards this human being is reaching its peak and he feels himself getting hard, he feels the tension forming in his sweatpants and he feels Wout's getting hard as well. His brain turns off and he wants to get away from the situation but Wout's hands are holding him strongly against the door. Their breathing gets faster as Wout looks at his face, his gaze travels down to their pants, mouth open in unsatisfied need. Primož knows he can't run away from this and he doesn't want to.

Wout caresses his chin, gives him a long kiss and then travels down his neck, kissing it wildly and starting to move his hips against him. Primož looks at the ceiling, his mouth open now as he's struggling to catch his breath. Their waists now move together as Wout slowly picks up the pace and starts rubbing his body against Primož, he pushes his legs between his, slides Primož's thigh on top of his thigh and continues to rub more and more, voices of pleasure escaping his mouth as he kisses his neck, then his mouth again. And Primož can barely hold it in as the friction between them gets firmer and rougher, he feels the pleasure spreading all over him rapidly and the tension in his pants getting replaced by vigorous enjoyment. They part their lips, both breathing hard and moaning, faces against each other, as Wout now moves tighter to him and strokes his crotch harder against Primož's crotch, the simulation of sex leaving them both lightheaded and filled with exhilaration. It's all too intense and too good and Primož feels he's so close to letting go. He leans his forehead on Wout's temple and whispers, "Wout, I'm gonna…" He feels the rush travelling to his chest, his limbs vibrating and he senses Wout's body trembling as he's getting close too. And then he hears it, a loud exhale and a groan of pleasure, Wout's arms clutch him violently and that does it for Primož as well. He feels the intense warmth spreading all over his body, even hotter through his boxers and pants, he searches for his breath, for a thought in his head, anything. And there's nothing, nothing but a deep relaxation and pure delight as he feels the body of a man he loves so much gently move away for a second and then embrace him in a strong hug.

They stay that way for a few minutes, waiting for their breathing to calm down, their hearts to return to them. Wout looks at Primož and carefully examines his face, "Are you OK?" he asks him, his voice gentle and low.

Primož has to laugh, "Wout, you just made me come so hard I ruined my sweatpants, and you're asking me, if I'm OK?"

Wout laughs as well as relief and happiness brighten his face now. He gives him a kiss, "So, do you wanna get in the shower first, then?"

"Sure, why not." Primož smiles and rolls out of his arms, disappears in the bathroom.

Wout lies on his bed, his heart still beating fast. This has been one of the craziest weeks he's had in his life. He still cannot grasp it.

It's only when he feels Primož sleeping next to him again that it finally dawns on him, _this is real, with him this is absolute._


	13. In ti se vračaš po isti poti, da bi me srečal, vzel me zase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Preden grem naprej by Melodrom.

Wout has been holding him in his embrace, counting down the minutes until he'll have to let him go. Today's the last stage of this year's Critérium du Dauphiné. After it's concluded he'll sit on the plane to Belgium and try to recharge for a few days. Primož will drive to Monaco and Wout can already feel the unease of his upcoming absence _. It's only gonna be for three, four days… And then I'm gonna be with him for almost two weeks_ , Wout tries to console himself. He doesn't want the time to move so fast, his thoughts are running around in his head and he cannot stop them from consuming his mind. He hates being in a hurry.

And the times flies. They're sitting on Primož's bed, leaning on the wall with their arms around each other. Primož's legs are spread across Wout's thighs, he's pressed on his chest, kissing him with thoroughly care _. I love how he's hugging me so tightly around my waist, how he touches me and kisses me with such confidence, all his shyness is gone now and everything is natural with him. And I love this, god, I love how he is with me._ Wout's hand travels through Primož's hair, caressing their softness, it goes back to holding his shoulder, then touching his neck and back to hair again. _I guess he wasn't expecting that, what happened yesterday night, but I could not resist him anymore, I wanted him so much, I wanted him against me. And now I want more of him. So much more._ Wout can't stop thinking of their act of desirous sensuality, of the pleasure it brought. He thinks of the joy of having Primož in his arms and giving him this pleasure, _and he came right after me, that was so fucking intense and it felt so good_ , Wout draws him closer, kisses him strongly and furiously and he feels Primož gasping for air, reaching for his face, caressing him as if to calm him down. Wout senses the tension between them rising and he doesn't want to stop it, but Primož pulls away gently. He holds Wout's cheek and bites his lower lip, looking down as he tries to catch his breath, _those perfect teeth of his, those eyelashes, why does he have to be so attractive?!_ Wout is barely holding back from dragging Primož under himself, laying him down on the bed and just…

"I think we're gonna be late for breakfast." Primož exhales deeply, "I think we should go downstairs."

Wout checks the time on his phone, throws it back on the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, "Yeah, I guess we don't want anyone to be suspicious…"

Primož looks at him warmly, slides his hand on Wout's chest and leans on his shoulder, "We'll talk about it after the race, ok, if there's time… Or in Tignes in a few days."

"Talk about what?" Wout looks at him.

"Us."

Primož sighs, all the tiredness and stress of the past week gathered in his voice as he adds, "And about this whole situation. We're gonna have to figure it out…"

Wout takes Primož's hand that's still resting on his chest, brings it to his mouth and softly touches it with his lips. Primož trembles in a faint shiver. He kisses his wrist, puts the palm back on his cheek and closes his eyes, "Yes, we'll have to figure it out."

\---

The sprint stages are always the most stressful in the last few kilometers. The team makes a good job of keeping Primož out of danger all the way to the end and Wout manages to contend for the victory but loses the ideal position in the last few meters, settling for a third place. He's fuming with frustration as all the teammates gather around him afterwards, patting him on the back. Team staff hands them their drinks and everyone's smiling in relief of bringing the race and their victory successfully to the finish. It all seems good to go for the Tour.

"Hey, Wout, that was an amazing sprint!" Tony tries to cheer up his teammate who still looks upset.

"I was too late, and then the guy closed me, I could not go around…" Wout opens his bottle, shaking his head.

Primož gets closer, puts his hand on the back of Wout's neck and rubs him gently, "It's alright, you did really great. Thank you for helping me all week." Making sure not to linger on him too long, he removes his hand and looks at him, their eyes meet. Wout wants more than just a courtesy gesture, he wants to wrap his arms around him, wants to comfort himself with hugging him, he wants to kiss this man who just won another stage race and tell him how much he's proud of him. And he wanted to win today, he wanted to win badly, to make Primož proud as well. But he couldn't do any of that. And it makes him even more frustrated.

\---

After all the closing ceremonies are done, the team gets together by their buses and team cars. They pack their gear and load their luggage into cars and vans and head to different directions, depending on where they live. Wout's already waiting by the car that will take him, Tony and Sepp to the airport. He's watching Primož saying his goodbye and thanks to some of the coaches. Ofcourse they didn't have any time to talk today, things have been too busy and hectic, with people around them all the time. Primož comes to their car now and hugs Tony and Sepp, makes a few jokes with them and already he's standing infront of Wout. He inhales deeply and Wout is thinking if he'll get a joke as well. But Primož is serious. They hug without words. Wout clutches him tightly and forces himself to let go of him as swiftly as possible as he notices both Grischa and Merijn looking at them inquisitively.

The drive to the airport passes quickly. Wout doesn't feel tired, he's just strangely drained and thoughtful. His mind wanders around but nothing is clear in his head, he feels like an observer of himself and his life, as it is and goes forward. When he's at the airport he says goodbye to his teammates as they're boarding a different plane. He opens his backpack to take out his passport and the airplane ticket and his eyes widen in surprise. He stares at the bright yellow fabric stuck inside it, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst his things. _Is that… a yellow jersey?_ He pulls it out and there's a note, hidden inside the jersey. His heart starts beating faster and he unfolds the small paper, the warmth overflows his body as he recognizes the handwriting:

_Wout_

_We did it! We finally managed to win a race together!_

_I could never do it without you. And I really mean it._

_This last yellow one belongs to you._

_Just like my heart.  
_

_Love,_

_Primož_


	14. Nad teboj je zvezdno nebo in zdaj ga topiš v zlato.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Prednosti norosti in nasilja by Melodrom.

_»When are you gonna be here?«_ Wout is staring at the screen on his phone, toothbrush in his mouth. _OK, put it down now._ He hasn't been texting this much in the last few months than he has been now in the past few days. He puts down his phone and goes to the bathroom, finishes brushing his teeth. He's been staying at the huge house the team rented in Tignes for two days now. They've started their altitude camp for the Tour de France. And he's been staying in his room alone. Primož was supposed to join them a day later but now he's been held up again. _He should be here by now, he should get here in the afternoon, and it's very late in the evening already._ Wout's been going crazy. _How did people do this in the past, with no phone, no text messages, no skype, no nothing. They only wrote fucking letters, saw each other once every six months because the travelling took so long. Bloody hell. What am I complaining about?_

He feels like a teenager. A somewhat naive teenager who fell in love seriously for the first time. And the funny part is, he's been in love countless of times, a few fimes in his adult life. Not like this. Not even close to this at all. The whole experience with Primož changed him, it changed the way he perceived life, how he felt towards other people, it changed how he began to love someone. Maybe it was because he has known him for a few years, because they've been colleagues, then became friends. They've suffered so much alongside each other already, spent so much time closely together. Maybe if was because they're such kindred spirits, both ruthless competitors, both ambitious and talented but also fundamentally nice people. Everyone likes being around them. Everyone respects them. And yet they are different. They come from different cultures. They have such different characters, such different life stories. In their public life one is very talkative and open, the other total opposite. One carries his emotions on his sleave, the other is mostly stone-faced and stoic. As riders they're complete contrary, but they cross towards each other all the time. Wout's getting better in climbing and GC, Primož at classics and sprinting. But they're both time trialists, both so different and yet the same. And they love each other.

Wout gets in the shower and allows the warmth of the water comfort him. He misses him. He misses his smile and his laughter, his big brown eyes, his lips, his touches and kisses. And he knows that's all because their love is still so fresh and new. He knows the ecstatic thrill will fade someday. He knows and it still doesn't make it any easier. And Wout doesn't care. He is aware he's head over heels in love and he's decided to enjoy it, to fully feel it. Even those brief moments of agony. Those become even more precious later on. When he's done with the shower he puts on his underwear and looks at his reflection in the mirror. He looks at himself for a few minutes with a motionless gaze, his mind frozen in an odd meditation. He's changed so much in the past few months. He used to only care about cycling. Beside his family and friends. But now he knows what he wants. Who he wants beside him.

He gets back in the room and checks his phone. New message.

_»Our flight got delayed and now there's been some blockade on the road. We can't see shit because it's dark and the line is so long, probably a car accident.«_

_Fuck. Seriously?…_ Wout feels the unease and frustration rising in his chest, he quickly texts him back, _»How long, do you think?«_

_»At least two more hours, probably more.«_

_»So, you guys are gonna be here in the middle of the night…«_

_»Yeah. Hopefully.«_

_»Stay safe, ok!«_

_»We will. Don't worry too much. And don't wait for me.«_

_Don't wait for me? Ofcourse I'm waiting for him!_

Wout gets in his bed and turns off the light, switches his nightstand lamp on instead. He looks at the empty bed across him for a second and then turns around onto his side and stares at the window, thinking of racing Tour de France again. He gets tired just by thinking about it. It's past midnight and his eyelids are getting heavy. He falls asleep.

\---

Primož slowly opens the door. He tries really hard to be quiet and not to wake him up. He hopes Wout didn't wait until three a.m. for him and he's relieved to see him asleep, the nightstand light still on though. He's exhausted. He's been in the air and on the road the whole day and most of the night and it took forever for him and two other staff members to finally get to their house. He gently drops his luggage on the floor and observes the room. _Here we are again._ He loves being in Tignes. He loves training camps. He looks at the figure lying in bed and his heart turns on like a singing box. _And here he is._ He takes off his clothes and walks towards their beds, looking for the face beneath the covers. _He is so incredibly sexy, even when he sleep,_ Primož catches his thoughts too late. He doesn't wanna wake him, so he thinks about sleeping in his own bed for a moment. _Man, it sucked to sleep alone these past few days. Wout's gonna kill me in the morning if he sees me in my bed._ He lightly lifts up the covers and slides under, pressing himself to Wout's body, clenching one arm around his waist and burying his face in Wout's neck and his hair. The feel and the smell of him get him so high he almost lets out a sigh. _Oh, I need to turn off the light._ He feels the body beside him move and he curses in his mind. Wout touches his hand and turns around, looks at him with sleepy eyes. He wakes up immediately when he realizes who it is and turns to face him now, takes him into his arms, pulling him onto his chest, bringing his face to him and kissing him desperately.

"Where have you been for so long?" he asks inbetween kisses even though he knows the answer, "I've missed you so much…" caressing his face, hugging him tighter.

"I've missed you too." Primož utters into his lips, feeling how his body is falling heavy on Wout, as he is getting so extremely tired now. "It's been such a crazy day. You don't wanna know…"

"Tomorrow…" Wout whispers.

"It is tomorrow, Wout." Primož looks at him, examining his face.

Something clicks in Wout and he grabs him by his hips and rolls him on his back and now it's Wout who is on top, looking down at him, gazing at his face. He doesn't say anything for minutes. Primož wants to ask him something, he wants to say how tired he is, that they should go to sleep, but he can't say a word, he just stares into his eyes, waiting for what it is he is going to do.

"I love you."

Primož feels his heart gasp in pain and collapse by the heaviness of emotion these words brought upon it. He feels his heart weigh down on him like a rock, pulling him deep into the ocean. And his heart never felt so full and happy as right in that moment. Ever.

"And I love you." Primož says to him and Wout leans down and starts kissing him passionately, deepens it more and more, sinks his tongue deep inside his mouth, claiming his lips for his own. Their breathing gets heavy and immense. Primož's head is in fog as the sensations travel through his body too fast for him to grasp anything. His mind is fatigued and his limbs are heavy but now they're being rapidly awaken again. Wout lays on him with whole of his body and Primož feels like he's being smashed by his weight and he can't help but to love it. He holds him tightly around his waist and feels Wout's hands touching his face, his neck, his shoulders and then sliding down, caressing his chest, tracing his abdomen muscles and then moving down to his boxers, resting on their band. They're both so hard now, so fevered and aroused it's becoming uncomfortable. Wout stops kissing him and looks him in the eyes, marveling in desirous need that looks back at him. He slides his hand on Primož's boxers, feeling the hardness of him, touching and caressing, all the while looking at the reactions of another man. And Primož is losing his mind, his heart is in shambles, his cheeks flushed, lips parted and sore from all the kissing. Wout raises his eyebrow and the only thing Primož can do is to nod and take a deep breath. Wout sits on his knees, puts his hands on Primož's legs and slowly pulls down his boxers and throws them on the floor. He looks at the man beneath him and exhales in admiration, his breath shallow with longing and anticipation. Primož never felt this exposed and vulnerable in his life. Wout caresses his knee with one hand and with the other coaxes his legs apart and slides down inbetween, coming closer to him, "You are the most beautiful human being I've even seen in my life." He gives him a kiss and then sits up again, takes off his own boxers as Primož is unable to say anything, to think, to breathe normally. Wout snuggles back to him, kissing him faster now and Primož can barely keep up, he feels the hot breath burning his lips, his cheeks, his neck… And then he feels Wout's hand taking him in gently, moving up and down slowly as he's so hard and sensitive now the smallest touch drives him insane. And the pleasure Wout brings out of him is insane. He props himself on his elbow and looks into his eyes, keeping the pace steady, the grip firmer and stronger as Primož can't keep it in anymore. He moans and pants, looks back at him with misty eyes. He dares to touch Wout now and takes him into his hand, slightly shocked by how big he is. He moves his hand strongly in the same rhythm and Wout closes his eyes at the intensity of the moment, the deepness of the pleasure. They kiss inbetween the lustful sounds they produce, so present in their newly built intimacy. Wout feels he's going to come soon so he brings their hands together, stroking both their members against each other, rubbing hard and fast against him, both quivering on the edge now. They come in seconds within each other, groaning loudly, the overwhelming delight drapes all over them and they shiver in sweetness of it all. Primož's stomach is now covered with white liquid and Wout quickly reaches for his boxers, wipes him up and tosses them back on the floor. He lies on top of him again, still breathing fast. Primož embraces him around shoulders, kisses his forehead. For minutes they just breathe. He feels Wout's body relaxing on him, his masculine legs beside his legs, his strong arms holding him like the most precious possession in the world.

"Wout." he says quietly.

He lifts up his head and looks at him, eyes glistening in contentment.

"It felt amazing." Primož whispers.

Wout kisses him, a small smile escapes his lips as he buries his head in Primož's neck, closing his eyes, "This is just the beginning."

Primož inhales deeply and switches off the light. He's completely exhausted but his core is full to the brim. How is he gonna sleep now? He closes his eyes, trying to will himself and his body to shut itself off, to rest. He doesn't dare to think what the time is and how is he gonna ride his bike in a few hours. But he doesn't really care. He gave himself to this man and became his lover. He opens his eyes, sees the darkness evanesce in the early dawn.  
  



	15. How soft your fields so green can whisper tales of gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Immigrant Song by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross feat. Karen O (orig. by Led Zeppelin)

"Primož, it's time to wake up now." Wout peers to his bed from the bathroom, a small figure still lying under the covers. "Primož!" It still doesn't move. He pulls on a t-shirt with his team's logo and walks to the bed. He sits on the edge and looks at his face, eyes firmy shut, breathing calm. He runs his fingers through Primož's messy hair, admiring the beauty of his sharp features and the soft lines of his mouth. "You really need to get up now. I know you're tired but we have to go downstairs for breakfast soon." He caresses his hair, then his face, tracing his cheekbones.

Finally the body starts moving slowly, indicating him waking up, but he doesn't open his eyes, "Nooo…" Primož complains with a quiet voice, "I just wanna sleep a bit more…" Wout has to smile because suddenly he finds it incredibly cute and endearing seeing Primož in his bed, whining like a little kid who doesn't wanna wake up to go to school in the morning. "Primož, c'mon, you have to get up. You can take a nap after lunch but now we're gonna have to go." He gives a deep sigh, "C'mon, baby, open your eyes…" he says gently.

And Primož opens his eyes, looks at him curiously, "Did you just call me baby?" he asks, his voice tired and a little hoarse.

"Yes?" Wout admits, not sure how he should feel about it, "Is that weird? Should I not call you that?"

Primož blinks his eyes widely now, trying hard to wake himself up, to force himself to move up. He lifts himself on his elbows, "Well, you can call me whatever you want."

Wout can't resist him anymore as he looks at him, just woken up, his bare chest shining in the morning sun. He leans down and kisses him, puts his arm around his back. Just a few weeks ago this scene would appear only as a dream to Wout, but now he's living it in real life and it infuses him with indescribable happiness. He gives him a few pecks on the cheek, "Actually, I wouldn't mind calling you my boyfriend…"

Primož looks him in the eyes, sits up on the bed, his hands holding onto Wout's arms. His expression turns contemplative and he looks away.

"What is it?" Wout asks, his eyebrows raised, hands placed around Primož's waist. 

"Nothing. I just… I don't think we should go public with this…" looking away. 

"What, like… ever?" A small pinch of pain shoots through Wout's stomach.

"No, not like never. Just not… now. Not yet." Primož rubbs his forehead.

He gets out of the bed, Wout's hands slide down on his lap.

"Let me take a quick shower." he hurries to the bathroom.

\---

At breakfast Primož talks a lot. He's busy telling the whole table of his adventurous travelling day and Robert, Tony and Sepp can't help but to laugh and inquire about the whole car accident hold up and getting to the house at 3 in the morning. Wout is looking at him across the table, not sure why he suddenly feels so strange, so nervous and restless.

"Luckily no one was severely hurt, I think, but yeah, we were stuck in one spot for 40 minutes, Ryan almost pissed himself." Laughter. "But, man, I'm destroyed. Can't wait to go to sleep."

After breakfast they get ready for the ride. Primož is buzzing with excitement despite his lack of sleep. Everything he does is kind of slow today but he is an ultimate professional and even though they are just at a training camp he always seems perfectly concentrated, like he doesn't get bothered by anything other than riding his bike. Unlike Wout whose brain has been going on and on about their conversation on the bed. Ofcourse he didn't expect from Primož to suggest that they should suddenly announce their relationship to the whole world but the way his face changed when mentioning being his boyfriend left Wout in a weird state.

 _What if he doesn't really want to be my boyfriend? Is that even a fair word to use to describe someone you're with? I mean, we've declared our love to each other, we've basically spent nights together, spent last night naked beside each other. I guess I just expected him to be a bit more excited about us, about everything. Or is this just how he is?_ He looks at Primož who is pedalling alongside Robert, discussing something and vigorously gesturing with his hand in the air.

 _I guess that is how he is. He doesn't really get too high or too low on anything. Maybe I'm just overreacting._ Wout barely manages to hide his affection towards him in public, he has to remind himself every day not to stare at him all the time, to not look too suspicious. And Primož appears to not have this problem at all. It makes Wout's heart hurt now. _Yes, we are professionals and this is our work place. I don't need him to linger around me constantly when we are working, but still..._ But still, now, more than ever, the absence of the other man's attention aches him.

Primož hasn't looked at him for the whole three hours they've been on the ride, not even a glance, Wout has noticed. They're on the last hard climb of the day and everybody decides to go full gass. As always, Primož pulls forward and dictates a killing tempo with others struggling to keep up and slowly one by one dropping off his wheel. It's two more kilometers to the mountain summit and Wout's been dying. He's stomping on the pedals, trying hard to stay with Primož, barely surviving, but he's determined to persevere. He wants to stay with him until the finish. And when Wout gets really stubborn and a little angry, there's nothing he can't do. One more kilometer, everyone is left behind them now and Wout is still holding on, he's right behind Primož, breathing heavily, looking at him. Primož glances back and smiles when he sees Wout still riding with him. He stands from his seat and pushes hard, accelerating with all his power and Wout has to give everything, everything he has, to reach the peak of the climb just a pace behind him. He lets out a huge exhale, breathes in relief and satisfaction. Primož turns his bike into a small parking lot, stops and gazes back at Wout who now swerves right next to him.

"That was really good, Wout, I wasn't holding back. You're getting so good at clim…" Wout cuts him off by landing a passionate kiss on his mouth. Primož stills in shock for a second and breaks away from him just to look down the road at the moment the other teammates and the team car appear out of the corner. He looks at Wout with slight horror in his eyes and Wout shruggs his shoulders. They're now joined by their teammates and Wout just can't help but to feel unease creeping inside him.

\---

The team comes back to the house for a late lunch. In the afternoon they all take their showers and massages. Wout gets into his room after some treatments and sees Primož, spread on his bed, napping deeply. He quietly puts down his things, takes a deep breath and stares at him for a minute. And now it hits him just how much of a mystery this man is to him. He always has been in some way. But that is what he really liked about him. He was always so different from anyone else. His mind just works in a different way.

Wout realizes he doesn't know what this man wants from him, really. _What am I to him? A friend with benefits? A closely intimate teammate? A lover? A partner? Eventually? Not now? Is that what he said? He doesn't wanna go public now. When then?_ Because Wout can't imagine hiding his feelings and affection for too much longer. He doesn't think it's fair. _Why can other people just hug and kiss their loved ones whenever they want? And I can't? No one hides it when they get together with someone. At least most people don't. OK, Primož and I are somewhat public people. But who cares about the public's opinion?_ Wout doesn't care what the press would write about them. He doesn't care what the fans would say about them. And Primož is notorious for not caring about what other people think of him. _So, why being all defensive about it now? Why, why?_

Wout decides he's gonna go outside and just try to think about something else. He gets to the porch infront of the house, overlooking the gorgeous azure blue lake. The air in the mountains is chill and fresh and it comforts Wout for a little while. He relaxes his body, enjoys the silence. _We're gonna have to talk about it. Really talk about it._

\---

After dinner the whole group of riders get together in the living room since they're all finally together in a complete Tour de France formation. They watch some tv and talk about past races and everyday matters. Wout finally feels the day has been enough for him and gets up from the couch. He gazes at Primož who is chatting with Tony about some time trial stage years ago. He's waiting for him to look at him and it doesn't happen. He heads to the door and Sepp yells after him, "Wout, are you leaving us already?"

"Uhhh, just tired… See you guys tomorrow." Wout replies, not looking at Primož this time around.

Wout lies in his bed, elbows folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. It's getting late and Primož still hasn't shown up yet. Wout's mind does not give him any break today, _I guess they have a really fun time down there. Or is he avoiding me… Great. That's what I need._ But suddenly he remembers how affectionate and loving Primož is to him everytime he is with him. Alone with him.

_But it's always me who initiates things. It was me who have started this whole thing. It was me who fell in love first, kissed him first, touched him first. Maybe he just loves me now, in the height of his emotions, in the newly discovered attraction, the thrill of it all. Maybe it's just an experimentation for him and he doesn't really intend for this to stay how it is now. Maybe he knows this will eventually end. Because if it doesn't end, what will it do to us, to our lives, to our careers? It would change everything._

Doors open and Primož comes in, smiling cheerfully, "Hey! Why did you leave so early?"

Wout doesn't answer and just looks at him, rhetorically.

Primož doesn't seem to be bothered by the non-answer and disappears in the bathroom, starts brushing his teeth. When he's done he comes to Wout's bed and quickly takes off his clothes, slides under the covers next to him.

"Hi… baby?" Primož smiles and lands his lips on him.

Wout melts under his body. His whole being shivers at the touch of Primož's bare skin. He wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Primož swings his leg over Wout and leans on his torso, one hand in his hair, the other under his shoulder blade, holding him tightly. _Why does he have to feel so good against me? Fuck, why do I want him so badly?_ He drinks in the softness of his lips, the texture of his tongue, the warmth of his breath. _How could I ever let him go?... Such stupid questions..._ Wout thinks as Primož's hand is now caressing his arm, his chest, his abdomen and their breathing gets faster and desperate. And he feels himself getting hard, he feels the desire for him rushing to his chest, he feels the pain under the ribcage cutting though him, the inevitability of another heartbreak looming in his mind.


	16. Plus tu cries plus profond j'irai, dans tes sables émouvants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song Love On The Beat by Laibach (orig. by Serge Gainsbourg)
> 
> Part of the scene inspired by CelestineAzure87 :)

Primož wakes up to the sound of rain tapping on the window. It makes him happy. Despite it being a nuisance in racing from time to time, he loves the rain. It may mean they won't be riding their bikes today if it keeps going, but he doesn't really mind. His body is pleasantly tired this morning, electrified by the sensuous moments from the past night. He rests his head on Wout's shoulder, his hand laying on his chest and slightly moving up and down with the breathing of the man next to him. Primož has never been so content in his life. He can't imagine not waking up in Wout's arms anymore. He turns his eyes up to look at his face and to his surprise he finds him awake, staring at the window. He looks serious, sad almost. Primož kisses him on the cheek. Wout continues staring at the window, doesn't look at him.

"Morning?" Primož says quietly.

Wout finally turns his head towards him, "Morning." voice stern and deep.

Primož props himself on his forearm, studies Wout's face, "Something wrong?"

"No…"

_Something is wrong._

"Are you sure?" a slight concern in his voice.

"I'm just thinking about something." and silence.

Primož doesn't know what it all means. His eyes rest on his body. He adores this body. Everytime he lies beside him at night he marvels at how perfectly built he is, how muscular and lean, and strong. Primož realizes he's never been with anyone taller than him before. He's never been with anyone bigger and this athletic, well, he has never been with a professional athlete and touching someone this fit… _Fuck, he looks good,_ Primož starts caressing his chest, he lays his head down again. He thinks of last night, of Wout's loving tenderness, his passionate kisses, his hands holding him with such possessiveness which sometimes scares Primož a little. He thinks of the pleasures Wout brought out of him and he remembers they still lie naked next to each other. And the chill silence is growing between them.

"What are you thinking about?" Primož inquires carefully.

A long sigh.

 _He's always in such a good mood in the mornings. He's always so affectionate towards me. Something happened..._ "You would tell me if it was something to do with me, right?" Primož takes his hand, entwines his fingers with Wout's.

"I'm just… not sure about all of this."

Primož gets on his forearm again, "All of this? You mean us?"

Wout cannot look at him, "I don't even know what it all means. Where is it going… What it means to you…"

"You know what it means to me."

"I don't think I do…" Wout looks at their hands, still holding together.

"I love you. I… I've told you that…" a slight panic in his voice, Primož is confused now, _what could have caused this doubt in him, why is he acting so strangely all of a sudden, what the hell did I do? "_ You don't believe me?"

"I don't know what _I_ mean to you, really… The only time I feel loved by you now is when we're alone."

"So, you're saying when we're around other people I'm being, what… horrible to you?" Primož feels himself suddenly getting annoyed. _So, this is about me not wanting us to go public with our relationship._

"No…" Wout takes a deep breath.

"Look, I don't want people to know about us, ok? I don't think it's a good idea right now. We're at the training camp, we start Tour de France in a couple of weeks. Do you have any idea what could this do…"

"I know." Wout raises his voice slightly, trying hard to find the right words. "I just… I find it so hard every day, to keep my hands off of you, to not show how much I'm in love with you, it's a fucking struggle and to you it's like… nothing… It's like I don't fucking exist when we're around other people." He pulls his hand away.

"Wout…" Primož embraces his waist, "I just don't want anyone to know there's something between us. I just try to make sure that…" now he searches for the right words to say.

"Well, try less." Wout says coldly.

"Oh, believe me, it's hard for me too…"

Wout does not believe him.

"It's easier to… ignore it, to not think about it too much, to not think about you. Well, try not to." Primož exhales heavily, "It's impossible for me to not think about you."

Wout still can't look at him, his chest is thumping, hurting in nervous anticipation. He's wondering if this was the right idea. Now they're just going to argue about this. And it's all because he's being selfish. Again.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you." Primož says with a lump in his throat and Wout feels the sudden guilt forming inside him, he looks at him now as he's staring at the window, eyes glistening in gray light. "I don't know how else to do this…"

Wout reaches for his face, kissing him gently, "No, I'm sorry. I'm being a selfish idiot." He pulls him closer, kissing him some more, "I'm just afraid, you know…"

"Afraid of what?" Primož furrows his eyebrows.

"Of this not being serious enough to you. Of this being just a phase…" now Wout feels the lump in his throat, "I don't want us to hide this. Why shoud we keep it a secret? Because we are guys? Because we're teammates or public people? Fuck all of that! It feels so wrong to me to hide that I'm with you… I mean, I know it's not gonna be easy."

Primož admires him, the glow in Wout's eyes stirs him with such force it moves him deeply. The smile sneaks up on his face and he rubs his forehead against Wout's temple, closing his eyes.

"What, why are you smiling?"

"I wish I was more like you." Primož presses his face closer to him, breathing in his scent, "You're so brave, and smart… and romantic." He looks at him, straight into the eyes, "And I adore you. I'll never be afraid to admit it."

They lock their mouths together, kissing vigorously, their hands travelling through their hair and all over their bodies, caressing each other. Wout coaxes Primož on top of him, feels him getting hard immediately.

"You're afraid… this is not serious enough… to me?" Primož asks inbetween kisses.

"Primož…" Wout's breathing gets louder, his hands slide down to the thighs and up to the waist again. They both shiver in desire as the tension consumes them slowly. Primož starts kissing his neck, sucking hard on his skin, determined to leave some bruises on him, "I'll show you…" He whispers and moves against him, rubbing his body strong and rough and Wout's head whirls in a daze, he gets so aroused he slides his hands on Primož's bottom and presses him harder to him, "Fuck, this feels so good." Primož kisses him with mouth open now, breathing heavy and hot as he brushes his lips down his neck, his collarbone, his chest. He kisses his nipples, sucks on them for a few moments and Wout whimpers in sharp pleasure. He moves further down, planting his lips all over Wout's stomach, his waist, all the way to his groin area. Wout gets on his elbows, looks down at Primož between his legs, the sight of him embracing his thigh sends him reeling. Primož touches him, feeling his hardness, caressing it slowly and gently. He looks at Wout now, his eyes feverous with desire and Wout almost loses it when he sees Primož begin to kiss him softly and then licking him all the way from the base to the tip, closing his eyes in the process, slowly enjoying it, listening to the other man pant and moan. He teases him some more and then takes him into his mouth, gradually sinking into the depths of this new act he's never done before. _He is so fuckin big,_ is all Primož can think about right now and he tries to be as gentle as possible, as tender and loving and as effective as he can be. He opens his mouth wide, finding his rhythm now, doing it harder and with more pressure, the feel of Wout shivering and moving in pleasure fills him with the most tremendous joy he hasn't felt yet before. He goes back to licking again, caressing and exploring it, like he just found a new beautiful treasure for himself and he's not gonna give it to anyone. It's all his now and he lets Wout know it, lets him feel it. He takes it in his mouth again, trying to swallow it as deep as he can, feeling the exhaustion creeping in his jaw but he doesn't care. He's not stopping for a second.

"I'm gonna come, Primož… I'm gonna come." Wout utters between his breaths, clutching the sheets, tensing now. And he speeds up a little, grabs him firmly as Wout lets out a huge moan, quivers in the sensation and unloads in Primož's mouth. With eyes wide open Wout looks at him in surprise, touched by his satisfied face as Primož wipes the corner of his mouth as if what he has just done was the most normal thing in the world for him. He tries to catch his breath and he notices Primož is still hard as rock, holding to his waist. He pulls him up onto his chest and kisses him passionately, tasting some of himself on his tounge. "I love you... so much…" Wout hugs him tightly, sliding his hand down and finding him hard and swollen, so needy in his arms now. He moves his palm fast, kneading him agressively as he sees Primož is so close to coming he does not want him to wait any longer. He feels his breath on his neck, listens to his heaving moan under his ear and it rejoices him to the brink of his being. Primož comes with a deep sigh and lies heavy beside Wout after, closing his eyes. They stay in silence now, unable to speak, to move.

A knock on the door. They look at each other, both alert and frozen.

"Wout?... Primož?" they hear Robert's voice shouting outside their room.

Primož buries his head in Wout's shoulder, "Fucking hell…"

"Yeah?" Wout tries to shout back as loud as possible, hoping Robert doesn't enter.

"Are you guys coming down for breakfast? … We're all almost done already…"

The time. They've completely lost track of the time.

"Yeah, sorry, we're coming now…"

"Alright…"

Primož looks at him, hand on his mouth, fighting back the urge to laugh.

"Well, that's gonna get interesting now…" Wout ponders, searching for a tissue to wipe off Primož's cum off his stomach. "What are we gonna say?"

Primož shruggs and jumps out of the bed, quickly pulling some clothes on, "Honestly, I'm not really that hungry now…" he looks at him with a devilish smile and Wout drags him into his arms, his still naked body pressed against him, it makes Primož tremble in excitement.

"Oh, you're not leaving me alone in this. You're going down with me." he kisses him deeply.

"You mean literally or figuratively?" they smile at each other.

\---

"Uh, we… we slept through alarm… I guess we were just sleeping too deep, you know… too tired?" Wout looks at Grischa's suspicious face across the table. And then at Primož who's sitting next to Grischa, stuffing his mouth with eggs and bread. Primož nods and gazes at his sporting director who now observes them both, crossing his arms in his lap, "Both of you?"

"Yeah, yesterday was so tough…" Primož reassures and stands up to get some more orange juice at the counter.

Grischa points at Wout's neck, "What's that?"

"What's what?" confused look.

"That red stain on your neck. There's one on the other side as well…"

"Uh, I don't know. Nothing…" Wout feels his cheeks coloring with heat.

Grischa gets up from the table, amused now, he smiles at Wout and puts his hand on his shoulder, tapping it lightly, "Wout, I'm not that old. We both know what it is."


End file.
